THE   MAN  THAT 


ERUPTED    HADLEYBURG 


AND 


OTHER   STORIES  AND  ESSAYS 


BY     MARK     TWAIN 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
1905 


Copyright,  1898,  1899,  and  1901,  by  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1893,  bv  J-  BRISBEN  WALKER 
Copyright,  1899,  1901,  and  1902,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Copyright,  1898  and  1899,  by  THE  FORUM  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
Copyright,  1899,  by  THE  S.  S.  McCLURE  COMPANY 
Copyright,  1893^ by  UNI?EKH(LL  &  NICHOLS 
Copyright,  i9«i,''by  'IK.VPN&  -S.  UNDERHILL 
Copyright*  1899,,  by  SAMUE/L  C.  CLEMENS 
Copyright,  1993',  'oyTftE/AXE^ic^N  1%fU-ASHiNG  COMPANY 
Copyright,  1900,  by  OLIVIA  L.  CLEMENS 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


• 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


LISTENING    TO    HER    HISTORY Frontispiece 

JIMMY    SAVES    THE    EMPEROR Facing  p.  198 

STILLMAN    ACCUSES    SHERLOCK    HOLMES      .       .          "         356 

V 


CONTENTS 


HAT  CORRUPTED   HADLEYBURG     ...  II 

LITERARY  PERSON 84 

'  MAIDEN'S   ROMANCE 121 

>    HOW    I    GOT    OUT    OF    IT    .       .       .  145 

THE    BELATED    RUSSIAN    PASSPORT 157 

TWO    LITTLE    TALES 186 

ABOUT    PLAY    ACTINJ 2O2 

DIPLOMATIC    PAY    AND    CLOTHES 2l6 

IS    HE    LIVING    OR    IS    HE    DEAD? 232 

MY    BOYHOOD    DREAMS 246 

THE  AUSTRIAN  EDISON   KEEPING  SCHOOL  AGAIN    .       .  255 

EXTRACTS    FROM    ADAM*S    DIARY 260 

THE    DEATH    DISK 276 

A    DOUBLB-BARRELED    DETECTIVE    STORY    .       .       ,       .  293 

vii 


Acknowledgment  is  hereby  made  to  The  Century  Company, 
The  Forum,  The  Cosmopolitan,  The  S.  S.  McClure  Company, 
Irving  S.  Underhill,  and  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company  for 
courtesy  shown  in  allowing  the  reprint  in  this  volume  of  a 
number  of  their  articles. 


MAN   THAT   CORRUPTED 
HADLEYBURG 

AND 

OTHER   STORIES   AND   ESSAYS 


THE  MAN  THAT  CORRUPTED 
HADLEYBURG 

i 

I.vas  many  years  ago.  Hadleyburg  was  the  most 
honest  and  upright  town  in  all  the  region  round 
about.  It  had  kept  that  reputation  unsmirched  dur 
ing  tj.ree  generations,  and  was  prouder  of  it  than  of 
any  ther  of  its  possessions.  It  was  so  proud  of  it, 
and  D  anxious  to  insure  its  perpetuation,  that  it  be 
gan  ID  teach  the  principles  of  honest  dealing  to  its 
babit-s  in  the  cradle,  and  made  the  like  teachings  the 
stapl  of  their  culture  thenceforward  through  all  the 
yeais  devoted  to  their  education.  Also,  throughout 
the  formative  years  temptations  were  kept  out  of  the 
way  of  the  young  people,  so  that  their  honesty  could 
have  every  chance  to  harden  and  solidify,  and  be- 
ome  a  part  of  their  very  bone.  The  neighboring 
towns  were  jealous  of  this  honorable  supremacy /- 
and  effected  to  sneer  at  Hadleyburg' s  pride  in  it  and 
call  it  vanity ;  but  all  the  same  they  were  obliged  to 
acknowledge  that  Hadleyburg  was  in  reality  an  in-V 
corruptible  town ;  and  if  pressed  they  would  also 
acknowledge  that  the  mere  fact  that  a  young  man 
(11) 


12  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

hailed  from  Ha/ileyburg  was  all  the  recommendation 
he  neede'd- \0iJeh  ,'he  went  forth  from  his  natal  town 
to  seek  far.  responsible  employment. 
;  -' ;  But .  at  '  tact'*,  ''iti-  the  drift  of  time,  Hadleyburg  had 
the  ill  luck  to  offend  a  passing  stranger — •  possibly 
without  knowing  it,  certainly  without  caring,  for 
Hadleyburg  was  sufficient  unto  itself,  and  cared  not 
a  rap  for  strangers  or  their  opinions.  Still,  it  would 
have  been  well  to  make  an  exception  in  this  one's 
case,  for  he  was  a  bitter  man  and  revengeful.  All 
through  his  wanderings  during  a  whole  year  he  kept 
his  injury  in  mind,  and  gave  all  his  leisure  moments 
to  trying  to  invent  a  compensating  satisfaction  for  it. 
He  contrived  many  plans,  and  all  of  them  were 
good,  but  none  of  them  was  quite  sweeping  enough; 
the  poorest  of  them  would  hurt  a  great  many  indi 
viduals,  but  what  he  wanted  was  a  plan  which  would 
comprehend  the  entire  town,  and  not  let  so  much  as 
one  person  escape  unhurt.  At  last  he  had  a  for 
tunate  idea,  and  when  it  fell  into  his  brain  it  lit  up 
his  whole  head  with  an  evil  joy.  He  began  to  form 
a  plan  at  once,  saying  to  himself,  "  That  is  the  thing 
to  do  —  I  will  corrupt  the  town." 

Six  months  later  he  went  to  Hadleyburg,  and 
arrived  in  a  buggy  at  the  house  of  the  old  cashier  of 
the  bank  about  ten  at  night.  He  got  a  sack  out  of 
the  buggy,  shouldered  it,  and  staggered  with  it 
through  the  cottage  yard,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
A  woman's  voice  said  "  Come  in,"  and  he  entered, 
and  set  his  sack  behind  the  stove  in  the  parlor, 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  ,j 

y  politely  to  the  old  lady  who  sat  reading  the 
onary  Herald  by  the  lamp : 
'ray  keep  your  seat,  madam,  I  will  not  disturb 
There  —  now  it  is  pretty  well  concealed ;   one 
:M  hardly  know  it  was  there.     Can  I   see  your 
md  a  moment,  madam?  " 

,  he  was  gone  to  Brixton,  and  might  not  return 
[•  >r2  morning. 

^ery  well,   madam,   it  is  no  matter.      I  merely 

wan'   d  to  leave  that  sack in  his  care,  to  be  delivered 

to  tl   ;  rightful  owner  when  he  shall  be  found.     I  am 

mger;    he   does   not  know  me;    I   am   merely 

pas-   ig    through   the   town  to-night  to  discharge  a 

in.it1   r   which    has    been    long    in    my    mind.       My 

•  d  is  now  completed,  and   I   go   pleased   and   a 

proud,    and    you    will    never    see    me    again. 

fhort!   is   a   paper  attached  to  the  sack  which   will 

explain  everything.      Good-night,  madam." 

2   old  lady  was   afraid   of    the   mysterious   big 

i  i,  ger,    and   was   glad   to   see   him   go.     But   her 

>ity  was  roused,  and  she  went  straight  to  the 

sacl     and   brought   away  the    paper.       It  began    as 

folk   /s : 

'  BE  PUBLISHED;  or,  the  right  man  sought  out  by  private  in- 
-  either  will  answer.      This  sack  contains  gold  coin  weighing  a 
hund*  -'d  and  sixty  pounds  four  ounces — 

Mercy  on  us,  and  the  door  not  locked  !  " 
s.    Richards   flew   to   it    all    in   a    tremble    and 
d  it,  then  pulled  down  the  window-shades  and 
frightened,  worried,  and  wondering  if   there 


14  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

was  anything  else  she  could  do  toward  making  her 
self  and  the  money  more  safe.  She  listened  awhile 
for  burglars,  then  surrendered  to  curiosity  and  went 
back  to  the  lamp  and  finished  reading  the  paper : 

"  /  am  a  foreigner,  and  am  presently  going  back  to  my  own  country, 
to  remain  there  permanently.  I  am  grateful  to  America  for  what  I 
have  received  at  her  hands  during  my  long  stay  under  her  Jiag  ;  and  to 
one  of  her  citizens  —  a  citizen  of  Hadleyburg — I  am  especially  grateful 
for  a  great  kindness  done  me  a  year  or  two  ago.  Two  great  kindnesses, 
in  fact.  I  will  explain.  I  was  a  gambler.  I  say  /WAS.  /  was  a 
ruined  gambler.  I  arrived  in  this  village  at  night,  hungry  and  without 
a  penny.  I  asked  for  help  —  in  the  dark  ;  I  was  ashamed  to  beg  in  the 
light.  I  begged  of  the  right  man.  He  gave  me  twenty  dollars  —  that 
is  to  say,  he  gave  me  life,  as  I  considered  it.  He  also  gave  me  fortune  ; 
'for  out  of  that  money  I  have  made  myself  rich  at  the  gaming-table. 
And  finally,  a  remark  which  he  made  to  me  has  remained  with  me  to 
this  day,  and  has  at  last  conquered  me  ;  and  in  conquering  has  saved 
the  remnant  of  my  morals  :  I  shall  gamble  no  more.  Now  I  have  no 
idea  who  that  man  was,  but  I  want  him  found,  and  I  want  him  to 
have  this  money,  to  give  away,  throw  away,  or  keep,  as  he  pleases,  ft 
is  merely  my  ivay  of  testifying  my  gratitude  to  him.  If  I  could  stay, 
I  would  Jind  him  myself ;  but  no  matter,  he  will  be  found.  This  is  an 
honest  town,  an  incorruptible  town,  and  I  know  I  can  trust  it  without 
fear.  This  man  can  be  identified  by  the  remark  which  he  made  ti 
me;  I  feel  persuaded  that  he  will  remember  it.  . 

"  And  now  my  plan  is  this:  If  you  prefer  to  conduct  the  inquiry 
privately,  do  so.  Tell  the  contents  of  this  present  writing  to  any  on? 
who  is  likely  to  be  the  right  man.  If  he  shall  answer,  '  I  am  the  man , 
the  remark  I  made  was  so-and-so?  apply  the  test  —  to  wit :  open  tht 
sack,  and  in  it  yoti  will  Jind  a  sealed  envelope  containing  that  remark. 
If  the  remark  mentioned  by  the  candidate  tallies  with  it,  give  him  thi 
money,  and  ask  no  further  questions,  for  he  is  certainly  the  right  man 

"But  if  you  shall  prefer  a  public  inquiry,  then  publish  this  pres 
ent  writing  in  the  local  paper — with  these  instructions  added,  to  wit . 
Thirty  days  from  now,  let  the  candidate  appear  at  the  town-hall  a: 
eight  in  the  evening  (Friday^),  and  hand  his  remark,  in  a  sealed  en 
velope,  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Burgess  (if  he  will  be  kind  enough  to  act)  ;  ana 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  15 

let  Afr.  Burgess  there  and  then  destroy  the  seals  of  the  sack,  open  tft 
and  S(e  if  the  remark  is  correct ;  if  correct,  let  the  money  be  delivered, 
with  my  sincere  gratitude,  to  my  benefactor  thus  identified." 

Mrs.  Richards  sat  down,  gently  quivering  with 
excitement,  and  was  soon  lost  in  thinkings  —  after 
this  pattern:  "What  a  strange  thing  it  is !  .  .  . 
And  what  a  fortune  for  that  kind  man  who  set 
his  bread  afloat  upon  the  waters !  ...  If  it  had 
only  been  my  husband  that  did  it!  — for  we  are  so 
poor,  so  old  and  poor!  .  .  ."  Then,  with  a  sigh 
—  "  But  it  was  not  my  Edward;  no,  it  was  not  he 
that  gave  a  stranger  twenty  dollars.  It  is  a  pity, 
too;  I  see  it  now.  .  .  ."  Then,  with  a  shudder  — 
"  But  it  is  gamblers  money !  the  wages  of  sin:  we 
couldn't  take  it;  we  couldn't  touch  it.  I  don't  like 
to  be  near  it;  it  seems  a  defilement."  She  moved 
to  a  farther  chair.  .  .  .  "I  wish.  Edward  would 
come,  and  take  it  to  the  bank;  a  burglar  might 
come  at  any  moment ;  it  is  dreadful  to  be  here  all 
alone  with  it." 

At  eleven  Mr.  Richards  arrived,  and  while  his  wife 
was  saying,  "  I  am  so  glad  you've  come!  "  he  was 
saying,  "  I'm  so  tired  —  tired  clear  out;  it  is  dread 
ful  to  be  poor,  and  have  to  make  these  dismal  jour 
neys  at  my  time  of  life.  Always  at  the  grind,  grind, 
grind,  on  a  salary — another  man's  slave,  and  he  sit 
ting  at  home  in  his  slippers,  rich  and  comfortable." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Edward,  you  know  that; 
but   be   comforted:    we    have    our    livelihood;    we     ( 
have  our  good  name — " 


1 6  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

1  Yes,  Mary,  and  that  is  everything.  Don't  mind 
my  talk — it's  just  a  moment's  irritation  and  doesn't 
mean  anything.  Kiss  me  —  there,  it's  all  gone  now, 
and  I  am  not  complaining  any  more.  What  have 
you  been  getting?  What's  in  the  sack?  " 

Then  his  wife  told  him  the  great  secret.  It  dazed 
him  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said : 

"  It  weighs  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds?  Why, 
Mary,  it's  for-ty  thou-sand  dollars  —  think  of  it  —  a 
whole  fortune !  Not  ten  men  in  this  village  are 
worth  that  much.  Give  me  the  paper." 

He  skimmed  through  it  and  said : 

"Isn't  it  an  adventure!  Why,  it's  a  romance; 
it's,  like  the  impossible  things  one  reads  about  in 
books,  and  never  sees  in  life."  He  was  well  stirred 
up  now;  cheerful,  even  gleeful.  He  tapped  his  old 
wife  on  the  cheek,  and  said,  humorously,  "Why, 
we're  rich,  Mary,  rich;  all  we've  got  to  do  is  to 
bury  the  money  and  burn  the  papers.  If  the 
gambler  ever  comes  to  inquire,  we'll  merely  look 
coldly  upon  him  and  say:  'What  is  this  nonsense 
you  are  talking?  We  have  never  heard  of  you  and 
your  sack  of  gold  before;  '  and  then  he  would  look 
foolish,  and  —  " 

"  And  in  the  meantime,  while  you  are  running  on 
with  your  jokes,  the  money  is  still  here,  and  it  is  fast 
getting  along  toward  burglar-time." 

"True.  Very  well,  what  shall  we  do  —  make  the 
inquiry  private?  No,  not  that:  it  would  spoil  the 
romance.  The  public  method  is  better.  Think 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  17 

what  a  noise  it  will  make  !  And  it  will  make  all  the 
other  towns  jealous ;  for  no  stranger  would  trust 
such  a  thing  to  any  town  but  Hadleyburg,  and  they 
know  it.  It's  a  great  card  for  us.  I  must  get  to 
the  printing-office  now,  or  I  shall  be  too  late." 

"But  stop  —  stop  —  don't  leave  me  here  alone 
with  it,  Edward!  " 

But  he  was  gone.  For  only  a  little  while,  how 
ever.  Not  far  from  his  own  house  he  met  the 
editor-proprietor  of  the  paper,  and  gave  him  the 
document,  and  said,  "  Here  is  a  good  thing  for  you, 
Cox  —  put  it  in." 

"  It  may  be  too  late,  Mr.  Richards,  but  I'll  see." 

At  home  again  he  and  his  wife  sat  down  to  talk 
the  charming  mystery  over;  they  were  in  no  con 
dition  for  sleep.  The  first  question  was,  Who  could 
the  citizen  have  been  who  gave  the  stranger  the 
twenty  dollars?  It  seemed  a  simple  one;  both 
answered  it  in  the  same  breath  — 

"  Barclay  Goodson." 

"Yes,"  said  Richards,  "he  could  have  done  it, 
and  it  would  have  been  like  him,  but  there's  not 
another  in  the  town." 

"Everybody  will  grant  that,  Edward  —  grant  it 
privately,  anyway.  For  six  months,  now,  the  vil 
lage  has  been  its  own  proper  self  once  more  —  hon 
est,  narrow,  self-righteous,  and  stingy." 

"It  is  what  he  always  called  it,  to  the  day  of  his 
death  —  said  it  right  out  publicly,  too." 

"  Yes,  and  he  was  hated  for  it." 


1 8  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"Oh,  of  course;  but  he  didn't  care.  I  reckon 
he  was  the  best-hated  man  among  us,  except  the 
Reverend  Burgess." 

"Well,  Burgess  deserves  it  —  he  will  never  get 
another  congregation  here.  Mean  as  the  town  is,  it 
knows  how  to  estimate  him.  Edward,  doesn't  it 
seem  odd  that  the  stranger  should  appoint  Burgess 
to  deliver  the  money?  " 

4 '  Well,  yes  —  it  does.     That  is  —  that  is  —  ' ' 

"Why  so  much  that-w-ing?  Would  you  select 
him?" 

"  Mary,  maybe  the  stranger  knows  him  better 
than  this  village  does." 

"Much  that  would  help  Burgess  !  " 

The  husband  seemed  perplexed  for  an  answer; 
the  wife  kept  a  steady  eye  upon  him,  and  waited. 
Finally  Richards  said,  with  the  hesitancy  of  one 
who  is  making  a  statement  which  is  likely  to  en 
counter  doubt, 

"  Mary,  Burgess  is  not  a  bad  man." 

His  wife  was  certainly  surprised. 

"  Nonsense  !  "   she  exclaimed. 

"  He  is  not  a  bad  man.  I  know.  The  whole  of 
his  unpopularity  had  its  foundation  in  that  one  thing 
—  the  thing  that  made  so  much  noise." 

"That  'one  thing,'  indeed!  As  if  that  'one 
thing'  wasn't  enough,  all  by  itself." 

"  Plenty.     Plenty.     Only  he  wasn't  guilty  of  it." 

"  How  you  talk!  Not  guilty  of  it!  Everybody 
knows  he  was  guilty." 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  19 

11  Mary,  I  give  you  my  word  —  he  was  innocent." 

"I  can't  believe  it,  and  I  don't.  How  do  you 
know?" 

"It  is  a  confession.  I  am  ashamed,  but  I  will 
make  it.  I  was  the  only  man  who  knew  he  was 
innocent.  I  could  have  saved  him,  and  —  and  — 
well,  you  know  how  the  town  was  wrought  up — I 
hadn't  the  pluck  to  do  it.  It  would  have  turned 
everybody  against  me.  I  felt  mean,  ever  so  mean; 
but  I  didn't  dare;  I  hadn't  the  manliness  to  face 
that." 

Mary  looked  troubled,  and  for  a  while  was  silent. 
Then  she  said,  stammeringly : 

"I  —  I  don't  think  it  would  have  done  for  you  to 
—  to  —  One  mustn't  —  er  —  public  opinion  —  one 
has  to  be  so  careful  —  so —  "  It  was  a  difficult  road, 
and  she  got  mired ;  but  after  a  little  she  got  started 
again.  "  It  was  a  great  pity,  but —  Why,  we 
couldn't  afford  it,  Edward  —  we  couldn't  indeed. 
Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  had  you  do  it  for  anything!  " 

11  It  would  have  lost  us  the  good-will  of  so  many 
people,  Mary;  and  then  —  and  then — " 

"  What  troubles  me  now  is,  what  he  thinks  of  us, 
Edward." 

41  He?  He  doesn't  suspect  that  I  could  have 
saved  him." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  wife,  in  a  tone  of  relief,  "  I 
am  glad  of  that.  As  long  as  he  doesn't  know  that 
you  could  have  saved  him,  he  —  he  —  well,  that 
makes  it  a  great  deal  better.  Why,  I  might  have 


20  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleytmrg 

known  he  didn't  know,  because  he  is  always  trying 
to  be  friendly  with  us,  as  little  encouragement  as  we 
give  him.  More  than  once  people  have  twitted  me 
with  it.  There's  the  Wilsons,  and  the  Wilcoxes, 
and  the  Harknesses,  they  take  a  mean  pleasure  in 
saying,  '  Your  friend  Burgess,'  because  they  know  it 
pesters  me.  I  wish  he  wouldn't  persist  in  liking  us 
so;  I  can't  think  why  he  keeps  it  up." 

11  I  can  explain  it.  It's  another  confession. 
When  the  thing  was  new  and  hot,  and  the  town 
made  a  plan  to  ride  him  on  a  rail,  my  conscience 
hurt  me  so  that  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  I  went 
privately  and  gave  him  notice,  and  he  got  out  of 
the  town  and  staid  out  till  it  was  safe  to  come  back." 

"  Edward  !      If  the  town  had  found  it  out —  " 

"Don't!  It  scares  me  yet,  to  think  of  it.  I 
repented  of  it  the  minute  it  was  done;  and  I  was 
even  afraid  to  tell  you,  lest  your  face  might  betray 
it  to  somebody.  I  didn't  sleep  any  that  night,  for 
worrying.  But  after  a  few  days  I  saw  that  no  one 
was  going  to  suspect  me,  and  after  that  I  got  to 
feeling  glad  I  did  it.  And  I  feel  glad  yet,  Mary  — 
glad  through  and  through." 

11  So  do  I,  now,  for  it  would  have  been  a  dreadful 
way  to  treat  him.  Yes,  I'm  glad;  for  really  you  did 
owe  him  that,  you  know.  f  But,  Edward,  suppose  it 
should  come  out  yet,  some  day  1  " 

11  It  won't." 

"Why?" 

11  Because  everybody  thinks  it  was  Goodson." 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  21 

11  Of  course  they  would  !  " 

"  Certainly.  And  of  course  he  didn't  care. 
They  persuaded  poor  old  Sawlsberry  to  go  and 
charge  it  on  him,  and  he  went  blustering  over  there 
and  did  it.  Goodson  looked  him  over,  like  as  if  he 
was  hunting  for  a  place  on  him  that  he  could  despise 
the  most,  then  he  says,  '  So  you  are  the  Committee 
of  Inquiry,  are  you  ?  '  Sawlsberry  said  that  was 
about  what  he  was.  *  Hm.  Do  they  require  par 
ticulars,  or  do  you  reckon  a  kind  of  a  general 
answer  will  do?  '  'If  they  require  particulars,  I  will 
come  back,  Mr.  Goodson ;  I  will  take  the  general 
answer  first.'  'Very  well,  then,  tell  them  to  go  to 
hell  —  I  reckon  that's  general  enough.  And 
give  you  some  advice,  Sawlsberry;  when  you  come 
back  for  the  particulars,  fetch  a  basket  to  carry  th< 
relics  of  yourself  home  in.'  ' 

"Just  like  Goodson;   it's  got  all  the  marks, 
had    only    one   vanity:     he    thought  he    could   g 
advice  better  than  any  other  person." 

"It   settled    the    business,    and   saved   us,    Ma  j 
The  subject  was  dropped." 

"  Bless  you,  I'm  not  doubting  that." 

Then  they  took  up  the  gold-sack  mystery  again, 
with  strong  interest.  Soon  the  conversation  began 
to  suffer  breaks  —  interruptions  caused  by  absorbed 
thinkings.  The  breaks  grew  more  and  more  fre 
quent.  At  last  Richards  lost  himself  wholly  in 
thought.  He  sat  long,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  floor, 
and  by  and  by  he  began  to  punctuate  his  thoughts 


22  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

with  little  nervous  movements  of  his  hands  that 
seemed  to  indicate  vexation.  Meantime  his  wife 
too  had  relapsed  into  a  thoughtful  silence,  and  her 
movements  were  beginning  to  show  a  troubled  dis 
comfort.  Finally  Richards  got  up  and  strode  aim 
lessly  about  the  room,  plowing  his  hands  through 
his  hair,  much  as  a  somnambulist  might  do  who  was 
having  a  bad  dream.  Then  he  seemed  to  arrive  at  a 
definite  purpose ;  and  without  a  word  he  put  on  his 
hat  and  passed  quickly  out  of  the  house.  His  wife 
sat  brooding,  with  a  drawn  face,  and  did  not  seem 
to  be  aware  that  she  was  alone.  Now  and  then  she 
murmured,  "Lead  us  not  into  t —  .  .  .  but  —  but 

—  we   are   so   poor,    so   poor!    .    .    .    Lead    us    not 
into.    .    .    .   Ah,  who  would  be  hurt  by  it?  —  and  no 
one  would  ever  know.    .    .    .   Lead  us.    .    .    .    '      The 
voice    died    out   in    mumblings.     After   a   little   she 
glanced  up  and  muttered  in  a  half -frightened,  half- 
glad  way  — 

"  He  is  gone !     But,  oh  dear,  he  may  be  too  late 

—  too  late.    .    .    .   Maybe  not  —  maybe  there  is  still 
time."       She    rose    and    stood    thinking,   nervously 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands.     A  slight  shud 
der   shook   her  frame,    and   she   said,   out  of  a  dry 
throat,  "  God  forgive  me  —  it's  awful  to  think  such 
things  —  but  .    .    .   Lord,   how  we  are  made  —  how 
strangely  we  are  made  !  ' ' 

She  turned  the  light  low,  and  slipped  stealthily 
over  and  kneeled  down  by  the  sack  and  felt  of  its 
ridgy  sides  with  her  hands,  and  fondled  them  lov 


"he  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  23 

ingly ;  and  there  was  a  gloating  light  in  her  poor  old 
eyes.  She  fell  into  fits  of  absence ;  and  came  half 
out  of  them  at  times  to  mutter,  "If  we  had  only 
waited  !  —  oh,  if  we  had  only  waited  a  little,  and  not 
been  in  such  a  hurry !  " 

Meantime  Cox  had  gone  home  from  his  office  and 
told  his  wife  all  about  the  strange  thing  that  had  hap 
pened,  and  they  had  talked  it  over  eagerly,  and 
guessed  that  the  late  Goodson  was  the  only  man  in 
the  town  who  could  have  helped  a  suffering  stranger 
with  so  noble  a  sum  as  twenty  dollars.  Then  there 
was  a  pause,  and  the  two  became  thoughtful  and 
silent.  And  by  and  by  nervous  and  fidgety.  At 
last  the  wife  said,  as  if  to  herself, 

4 '  Nobody  knows  this  secret  but  the  Richardses 
.  .  .  and  us  ...  nobody." 

The  husband  came  out  of  his  thinkings  with  a 
slight  start,  and  gazed  wistfully  at  his  wife,  whose 
face  was  become  very  pale;  then  he  hesitatingly 
rose,  and  glanced  furtively  at  his  hat,  then  at  his 
wife  —  a  sort  of  mute  inquiry.  Mrs.  Cox  swallowed 
once  or  twice,  with  her  hand  at  her  throat,  then  in 
place  of  speech  she  nodded  her  head.  In  a  moment 
she  was  alone,  and  mumbling  to  herself. 

And  now  Richards  and  Cox  were  hurrying 
through  the  deserted  streets,  from  opposite  direc 
tions.  They  met,  panting,  at  the  foot  of  the  print 
ing-office  stairs ;  by  the  night-light  there  they  read 
each  other's  face.  Cox  whispered, 

'*  Nobody  knows  about  this  but  us?  " 


24  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

The  whispered  answer  was, 

44  Not  a  soul  —  on  honor,  not  a  soul !  " 

"  If  it  isn't  too  late  to  —  " 

The  men  were  starting  up-stairs ;  at  this  moment 
they  were  overtaken  by  a  boy,  and  Cox  asked, 

44  Is  that  you,  Johnny?" 

44  Yes,  sir." 

44  You  needn't  ship  the  early  mail  —  nor  any 
mail;  wait  till  I  tell  you." 

14  It's  already  gone,  sir." 

4  4  Gone  ?  '  It  had  the  sound  of  an  unspeakable 
disappointment  in  it. 

4  Yes,  sir.  Time-table  for  Brixton  and  all  the 
towns  beyond  changed  to-day,  sir  —  had  to  get  the 
papers  in  twenty  minutes  earlier  than  common.  I 
had  to  rush ;  if  I  had  been  two  minutes  later  —  ' 

The   men    turned    and    walked    slowly  away,   not 

waiting  to   hear   the   rest.      Neither   of   them   spoke 

during  ten  minutes;   then  Cox  said,  in  a  vexed  tone, 

4  What  possessed  you   to  be   in  such   a  hurry,  / 

can't  make  out." 

The  answer  was  humble  enough : 

4  I  see  it  now,  but  somehow  I  never  thought,  you 
know,  until  it  was  too  late.  But  the  next  time  - 

4  Next  time  be  hanged!  It  won't  come  in  a 
thousand  years." 

Then  the  friends  separated  without  a  good-night, 
and  dragged  themselves  home  with  the  gait  of 
mortally  stricken  men.  At  their  homes  their  wives 
sprang  up  with  an  eager  *4  Well?  "  —  then  saw  the 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  25 

answer  with  their  eyes  and  sank  down  sorro\vingv 
without  waiting  for  it  to  come  in  words.  In  both 
houses  a  discussion  followed  of  a  heated  sort  —  a 
new  thing;  there  had  been  discussions  before,  but 
not  heated  ones,  not  ungentle  ones.  The  discussions 
to-night  were  a  sort  of  seeming  plagiarisms  of  each 
other.  Mrs.  Richards  said, 

'  If  you  had  only  waited,  Edward  —  if  you  had 
only  stopped  to  think;  but  no,  you  must  run  straight 
to  the  printing-office  and  spread  it  all  over  the  world . ' ' 

"  It  said  publish  it." 

44  That  is  nothing;  it  also  said  do  it  privately,  if 
you  liked.  There,  now  —  is  that  true,  or  not?  " 

4  Why,  yes  —  yes,  it  is  true;  but  when  I  thought 
what  a  stir  it  would  make,  and  what  a  compliment  it 
was  to  Hadleyburg  that  a  stranger  should  trust  it 
so--" 

44  Oh,  certainly,  I  know  all  that;  but  if  you  had 
only  stopped  to  think,  you  would  have  seen  that 
you  couldn  t  find  the  right  man,  because  he  is  in  his 
grave,  and  hasn't  left  chick  nor  child  nor  relation 
behind  him ;  and  as  long  as  the  money  went  to 
somebody  that  awfully  needed  it,  and  nobody  would 
be  hurt  by  it,  and  —  and  — 

She  broke  down,  crying.  Her  husband  tried  to 
think  of  some  comforting  thing  to  say,  and  presently 
came  out  with  this : 

44  But  after  all,  Mary,  it  must  be  for  the  best  —  it 
must  be;  we  know  that.  And  we  must  remember 
that  it  was  so  ordered  —  ' ' 


26  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"Ordered!  Oh,  everything's  ordered,  when  a 
person  has  to  find  some  way  out  when  he  has  been 
stupid.  Just  the  same,  it  was  ordered  that  the 
money  should  come  to  us  in  this  special  way,  and 
it  was  you  that  must  take  it  on  yourself  to  go  med 
dling  with  the  designs  of  Providence  —  and  who 
gave  you  the  right?  It  was  wicked,  that  is  what  it 
was  —  just  blasphemous  presumption,  and  no  more 
becoming  to  a  meek  and  humble  professor  of  - 

1 '  But,  Mary,  you  know  how  we  have  been  trained 
all  our  lives  long,  like  the  whole  village,  till  it  is 
absolutely  second  nature  to  us  to  stop  not  a  single 
moment  to  think  when  there's  an  honesty  thing  to  be 
done—" 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,  I  know  it  —  it's  been  one  ever 
lasting  training  and  training  and  training  in  honesty 
—  honesty  shielded,  from  the  very  cradle,  against 
/  every  possible  temptation,  and  so  it's  artificial 
honesty,  and  weak  as  water  when  temptation  comes, 
as  we  have  seen  this  night.  God  knows  I  never  had 
shade  nor  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  my  petrified  and 
indestructible  honesty  until  now  —  and  now,  under 
the  very  first  big  and  real  temptation,  I  —  Edwaid, 
it  is  my  belief  that  this  town's  honesty  is  as  rotten 
as  mine  is ;  as  rotten  as  yours  is.  It  is  a  mean 
town,  a  hard,  stingy  town,  and  hasn't  a  virtue  in  the 
world  but  this  honesty  it  is  so  celebrated  for  and  so 
conceited  about;  and  so  help  me,  I  do  believe  that 
if  ever  the  day  comes  that  its  honesty  falls  under 
great  temptation,  its  grand  reputation  will  go  to  ruin 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  27 

like  a  house  of  cards.     There,  now,  I've  made  con 
fession,  and  I  feel  better;   I  am  a  humbug,  and  I've          •/ 
been  one  all  my  life,  without  knowing  it.     Let  no        ^W 
man  call  me  honest  again  —  I  will  not  have  it." 

*  I — well,  Mary,  I  feel  a  good  deal  as  you  do; 
I  certainly  do.      It  seems  strange,  too,  so  strange. 
I  never  could  have  believed  it  —  never." 

A  long  silence  followed ;  both  were  sunk  in 
thought.  At  last  the  wife  looked  up  and  said, 

*  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,  Edward." 
Richards  had  the   embarrassed   look  of  a  person 

who  is  caught. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it,  Mary,  but—  \. , 

'  It's  no  matter,  Edward,  I  was  thinking  the  same 
question  myself."  I 

"  I  hope  so.      State  it." 

"  You  were  thinking,  if  a  body  could  only  guess 
out  what  the  remark  was  that  Goodson  made  to  the 
stranger. ' ' 

'  It's  perfectly  true.      I  feel  guilty  and  ashamed. 
And  you?  " 

'  I'm  past  it.      Let  us  make  a  pallet  here;   we've 
got  to  stand  watch  till  the  bank  vault  opens  in  the 
morning   and   admits   the   sack.    .    .    .   Oh    dear,   oh 
dear —  if  we  hadn't  made  the  mistake  !  ' 
The  pallet  was  made,  and  Mary  said: 
'  The  open  sesame  —  what  could  it  have  been?    I 
do    wonder    what    that    remark    could    have    been? 
But  come;   we  will  get  to  bed  now." 
"  And  sleep?  " 


28  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"No:   think." 

44  Yes,  think." 

By  this  time  the  Coxes  too  had  completed  their 
spat  and  their  reconciliation,  and  were  turning  in  — 
to  think,  to  think,  and  toss,  and  fret,  and  worry 
over  what  the  remark  could  possibly  have  been 
which  Goodson  made  to  the  stranded  derelict;  that 
golden  remark ;  that  remark  worth  forty  thousand 
dollars,  cash. 

The  reason  that  the  village  telegraph  office  was 
open  later  than  usual  that  night  was  this :  The 
foreman  of  Cox's  paper  was  the  local  representative 
of  the  Associated  Press.  One  might  say  its  honor 
ary  representative,  for  it  wasn't  four  times  a  year 
that  he  could  furnish  thirty  words  that  would  be 
accepted.  But  this  time  it  was  different.  His 
dispatch  stating  what  he  had  caught  got  an  instant 
answer : 

"  Send  the  whole  thing  —  all  the  details  —  twelve   hundred  words" 

A  colossal  order !  The  foreman  filled  the  bill ; 
and  he  was  the  proudest  man  in  the  State.  By  break 
fast-time  the  next  morning  the  name  of  Hadleybtirg 
the  Incorruptible  was  on  every  lip  in  America,  from 
Montreal  to  the  Gulf,  from  the  glaciers  of  Alaska  to 
the  orange-groves  of  Florida ;  and  millions  and  mill 
ions  of  people  were  discussing  the  stranger  and  his 
money-sack,  and  wondering  if  the  right  man  would 
be  found,  and  hoping  some  more  news  about  the 
matter  would  come  soon  —  right  away. 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  29 

ii 

Hadleyburg  village  woke  up  world-celebrated  — . 
astonished  —  happy  —  vain.  Vain  beyond  imagina 
tion.  Its  nineteen  principal  citizens  and  their  wives 
went  about  shaking  hands  with  each  other,  and 
beaming,  and  smiling,  and  congratulating,  and  say 
ing  this  thing  adds  a  new  word  to  the  dictionary  - 
Hadleyburg,  synonym  for  incorruptible  —  destined  to 
live  in  dictionaries  forever !  And  the  minor  anH 
unimportant  citizens  and  their  wives  went  around 
acting  in  much  the  same  way.  Everybody  ran  to 
the  bank  to  see  the  gold-sack;  and  before  noon 
grieved  and  envious  crowds  began  to  flock  in  from 
Brixton  and  all  neighboring  towns ;  and  that  after 
noon  and  next  day  reporters  began  to  arrive  from 
everywhere  to  verify  the  sack  and  its  history  and 
write  the  whole  thing  up  anew,  and  make  dashing 
free-hand  pictures  of  the  sack,  and  of  Richards's 
house,  and  the  bank,  and  the  Presbyterian  church, 
and  the  Baptist  church,  and  the  public  square,  and 
the  town-hall  where  the  test  would  be  applied  and 
the  money  delivered ;  and  damnable  portraits  of  the 
Richardses,  and  Pinkerton  the  banker,  and  Cox, 
and  the  foreman,  and  Reverend  Burgess,  and  the 
postmaster  —  and  even  of  Tack  ^Halliday .  who  was 
the  loafing,  good-natured,  no-account,  irreverent 
fisherman,  hunter,  boys'  friend,  stray-dogs'  friend, 
typical  "  Sam  Lavvson  "  of  the  town.  The  little 
mean,  smirking,  oily  Pinkerton  showed  the  sack  to 
all  comers,  and  rubbed  his  sleek  palms  together 


y 


30  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

pleasantly,  and  enlarged  upon  the  town's  fine  old 
reputation  for  honesty  and  upon  this  wonderful 
endorsement  of  it,  and  hoped  and  believed  that  the 
example  would  now  spread  far  and  wide  over  the 
American  world,  and  be  epoch-making  in  the  matter 
of  moral  regeneration.  And  so  on,  and  so  on. 

By  the  end  of  a  week  things  had  quieted  down 
again ;  the  wild  intoxication  of  pride  and  joy  had 
sobered  to  a  soft,  sweet,  silent  delight  —  a  sort  of 
deep,  nameless,  unutterable  content.  All  faces 
bore  a  look  of  peaceful,  holy  happiness. 

Then  a  change  came.  It  was  a  gradual  change: 
so  gradual  that  its  beginnings  were  hardly  noticed ; 
maybe  were  not  noticed  at  all,  except  by  Jack  Hal- 
liday,  who  always  noticed  everything;  and  always 
made  fun  of  it,  too,  no  matter  what  it  was.  He 
began  to  throw  out  chaffing  remarks  about  people 
not  looking  quite  so  happy  as  they  did  a  day  or  two 
ago ;  and  next  he  claimed  that  the  new  aspect  was 
deepening  to  positive  sadjp£ss^  next,  that  it  was  tak 
ing  on  a  sick  look^-and  finally  he  said  that  everybody 
was  become  so  moody,  thoughtful,  and  ^absent- 
minded  that  he  could  rob  tEe  meanest  man  in  town 
of  a  cent  out  of  the  bottom  of  his  breeches  pocket 
and  not  disturb  his  revery. 

At  this  stage  —  or  at  about  this  stage  —  a  saying 
like  this  was  dropped  at  bedtime  —  with  a  sigh, 
usually  —  by  the  head  of  each  of  the  nineteen 
principal  households:  "  Ah,  what  could  have  been 
the  remark  that  Goodson  made?  " 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  31 

And  straightway  —  with  a  shudder  —  came  this, 
from  the  man's  wife: 

"Oh,  don't!  What  horrible  thing  are  you 
mulling  in  your  mind?  Put  it  away  from  you,  for 
God's  sake!  " 

But  that  question  was  \vrung  from  those  men 
again  the  next  night  —  and  got  the  same  retort. 
But  weaker. 

And  the  third  night  the  men  uttered  the  question 
yet  again  —  with  anguish,  and  absently.  This  time 
—  and  the  following  night — the  wives  fidgeted 
feebly,  and  tried  to  say  something.  But  didn't. 

And  the  night  after  that  they  found  their  tongues 
and  responded  —  longingly, 

11  Oh,  if  we  could  only  guess  !  " 

Halliday's  comments  grew  daily  more  and  more 
sparklingly  disagreeable  and  disparaging.  He  went 
diligently  about,  laughing  at  the  town,  individually 
and  in  mass.  But  his  laugh  was  the  only  one  left  in 
the  village :  it  fell  upon  a  hollow  and  mournful 
vacancy  and  emptiness.  Not  even  a  smile  was 
fmdable  anywhere.  Halliday  carried  a  cigar-box 
around  on  a  tripod,  playing  that  it  was  a  camera, 
and  halted  all  passers  and  aimed  the  thing  and  said, 
'Ready!  —  now  look  pleasant,  please,"  but  not 
even  this  capital  joke  could  surprise  the  dreary  faces 
into  any  softening. 

So  three  weeks  passed  —  one  week  was  left.  It 
was  Saturday  evening — after  supper.  Instead  of 
the  aforetime  Saturday-evening  flutter  and  bustle 


)2  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

and  shopping  and  larking,  the  streets  were  empty 
and  desolate.  Richards  and  his  old  wife  sat  apart 
in  their  little  parlor  —  miserable  and  thinking.  This 
was  become  their  evening  habit  now :  the  lifelong 
habit  which  had  preceded  it,  of  reading,  knitting, 
and  contented  chat,  or  receiving  or  paying  neigh 
borly  calls,  was  dead  and  gone  and  forgotten,  ages 
ago  —  two  or  three  weeks  ago  ;  nobody  talked^now, 
nobody  read,  nobody  visited  —  the  whole  village  sat 
at  home,  sighing,  worrying,  silent.  Trying  to  guess 
out  that  remark. 

The  postman  left  a  letter.  Richards  glanced 
listlessly  at  the  superscription  and  the  postmark  — 
unfamiliar,  both  —  and  tossed  the  letter  on  the  table 
and  resumed  his  might-have-beens  and  his  hopeless 
dull  miseries  where  he  had  left  them  off.  Two  or 
three  hours  later  his  wife  got  wearily  up  and  was 
going  away  to  bed  without  a  good-night — custom 
now  —  but  she  stopped  near  the  letter  and  eyed  it 
awhile  with  a  dead  interest,  then  broke  it  open,  and 
began  to  skim  it  over.  Richards,  sitting  there  with 
his  chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall  and  his  chin 
between  his  knees,  heard  something  fall.  It  wa.;  his 
wife.  He  sprang  to  her  side,  but  she  cried  out: 

l<  Leave  me  alone,  I  am  too  happy.  Read  the 
letter— -read  it !  " 

He  did.  He  devoured  it,  his  brain  reeling.  The 
letter  was  from  a  distant  State,  and  it  said : 

"  f  am  a  stranger  to  you,  but  no  matter  :  I  have  something  to  telL 
I  have  just  arrived  home  from  Mexico,  and  learned  about  that  episode. 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  33 

Of  course  you  do  not  know  who  made  that  remark,  but  I  know,  and  I 
am  the  only  person  living  who  does  know.  It  was  GoonsON.  I  knew 
him  well,  many  years  ago.  I  passed  through  your  village  that  very 
night,  and  was  his  guest  till  the  midnight  train  came  along.  I  over 
heard  him  make  that  remark  to  the  stranger  in  the  dark — it  was  in 
Hale  Alley.  He  and  I  talked  of  it  the  rest  of  the  way  home,  and  while 
smoking  in  his  house.  He  mentioned  many  of  your  villagers  in  the 
course  of  his  talk  —  most  of  them  in  a  very  uncomplimentary  way,  but 
two  or  three  favorably  ;  among  these  latter  yourself.  I  say  'favorably ' 

—  nothing  stronger.     I  remember  his  saying  he  did  not  actually  LIKE 
any  person  in  the  town  —  not  one ;  but  that  you  —  /  THINK,  he  said 
you  —  am  almost  stire — had  done  him  a  very  great  service  once,  pos 
sibly  without  knowing  the  full  value  of  it,  and  he  wished  he  had  a 
fortune,  he  would  leave  it  to  you  when  he  died,  and  a  curse  (rpiece  for 
the  rest  of  the  citizens.     Now,  then,  if  it  was  you  that  did  him  that 
service,  you  are  his  legitimate  heir,  and  entitled  to  the  sack  of  gold.     I 
know  t/iat  1  can  trust  to  your  honor  and  honesty,  for  in  a  citizen  of 
Hadlcyburg  these  virtues  are  an  unfailing  inheritance,  and  so  I  am 
going  to  reveal  to  you  the  remark,  well  satisfied  that  if  you  are  not  the 
right  man  you  will  seek  and  fend  the  right  one  and  see  that  poor  Good- 
son'1  s  debt  of  gratitude  for  the  service  referred  to  is  pail.       This  is  the 
remark  :  '  You  ARE  FAR  FROM  BEING  A  BAD  MAN  :  GO,  AND  REFORM/ 

"HOWARD  L.  STEPHENSON." 

11  Oh,  Edward,  the  money  is  ours,  and  I  am  so 
grateful,  ok,  so  grateful —  kiss  me,  dear,  it's  forever 
since  we  kissed  —  and  we  needed  it  so  —  the  money 

—  and  now  you  are  free  of  Pinkerton  and  his  bank, 
and   nobody's   slave   any   more;   it  seems   to   me    I 
could  fly  for  joy." 

It  was  a  happy  half-hour  that  the  couple  spent 
there  on  the  settee  caressing  each  other ;  it  was  the 
old  days  come  again  —  days  that  had  begun  with 
their  courtship  and  lasted  without  a  break  till  the 
stranger  brought  the  deadly  money.  By  and  by  the 
wife  said : 


34  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"  Oh,  Edward,  how  lucky  it  was  you  did  him  that 
grand  service,  poor  Goodson  !  I  never  liked  him, 
but  I  love  him  now.  And  it  was  fine  and  beautiful 
of  you  never  to  mention  it  or  brag  about  it." 
Then,  with  a  touch  of  reproach,  **  But  you  ought 
to  have  told  me,  Edward,  you  ought  to  have  told 
your  wife,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  —  er  —  well,  Mary,  you  see  — 

"Now  stop  hemming  and  hawing,  and  tell  me 
about  it,  Edward.  I  always  loved  you,  and  now 
I'm  proud  of  you.  Everybody  believes  there  was 
only  one  good  generous  soul  in  this  village,  and 
now  it  turns  out  that  you  —  Edward,  why  don't 
you  tell  me?  " 

-Well  —  er  —  er—     Why,  Mary,  I  can't!  " 

"  You  can't?      Why  can't  you?  " 
'You  see,  he  —  well,  he  —  he  made  me  promise 
I  wouldn't." 

The  wife  looked  him  over,  and   said,  very  slowly, 

"Made  —  you  —  promise?  Edward,  what  do 
you  tell  me  that  for?" 

"  Mary,  do  you  think  I  would  lie?  " 

She  was  troubled  and  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
she  laid  her  hand  within  his  and  said  : 

"No  .  .  .  no.  We  have  wandered  far  enough 
from  our  bearings  —  God  spare  us  that  !  In  all 
your  life  you  have  never  uttered  a  lie. 


now  that  the  foundations  of  things  seem  to  be  crum 
bling  from  under  us,   we  —  we  -  She   lost  her 

voice  for  a  moment,  then  said,  brokenly,  "  Lead  us 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  35 

not  into  temptation.  ...  I  think  you  made  the 
promise,  Edward.  Let  it  rest  so.  Let  us  keep 
away  from  that  ground.  Now  —  that  is  all  gone 
by;  let  us  be  happy  again;  it  is  no  time  for  clouds." 

Edward  found  it  something  of  an  effort  to  comply, 
for  his  mind  kept  wandering — -trying  to  remember 
what  the  service  was  that  he  had  done  Goodson. 
~The  couple  lay  awake  the  most"6T"tHe"hIglit,  Mary 
happy  and  busy,  Edward  busy  but  not  so  happy. 
Mary  was  planning  what  she  would  do  with  the 
money.  Edward  was  trying  to  recall  that  service. 
At  first  his  conscience  was  sore  on  account  of  the 
lie  he  had  told  Mary  —  if  it  was  a  lie.  After  much 
reflection  —  suppose  it  was  a  lie?  What  then?' 
Was  it  such  a  great  matter?  Aren't  we  always 
acting-  lies?  Then  why  not  tell  them?  Look  at 
Mary  —  look  what  she  had  done.  While  he  was 
hurrying  off  on  his  honest  errand,  what  was  she 
doing?  Lamenting  because  the  papers  hadn't  been 
destroyed  and  the  money  kept!  Is  theft  better/ 
than  lying? 

That  point  lost  its  sting  —  the  lie  dropped  into 
the  background  and  left  comfort  behind  it.  The 
next  point  came  to  the  front :  Had  he  rendered  that 
service?  Well,  here  was  Goodson' s  own  evidence 
as  reported  in  Stephenson's  letter;  there  could  be 
no  better  evidence  than  that — it  was  even  proof 
that  he  had  rendered  it.  Of  course.  So  that  point 
was  settled.  .  .  .  No,  not  quite.  He  recalled  with 
a  wince  that  this  unknown  Mr.  Stephenson  was  just 


36  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

a  trifle  unsure  as  to  whether  the  performer  of  it  was 
Richards  or  some  other  —  and,  oh  dear,  he  had 
put  Richards  on  his .  honor !  He  must  himself 
decide  whither  that  money  must  go  —  and  Mr. 
Stephenson  was  not  doubting  that  if  he  was  the 
wrong  man  he  would  go  honorably  and  find  the 
right  one.  Oh,  it  was  odious  to  put  a  man  in  such 
a  situation  —  ah,  why  couldn't  Stephenson  have  left 
out  that  doubt !  What  did  he  want  to  intrude  that 
for? 

Further  reflection.  How did  rt  happen  that 

Richards1  s  name  remainecfin  Stephenson  'sjmind  as 
indicating  the  right  jpan,  and  not  some  other  man's 
name?  That  looked._gopd.  Yes,  that  looked  very 
good.  In  fact,  it  went  on  looking  better  and  better, 
straight  along — -until  by  and  by  it  grew  into  posi 
tive  proof.  And  then  Richards  put  the  matter  at 
once  out  of  his  mind,  for  he  had  a  private  instinct 
that  a  proof  once  established  is  better  left  so. 

He  was  feeling  reasonably  comfortable  now,  but 
there  was  still  one  other  detail  that  kept  pushing 
itself  on  his  notice :  of  course  he  had  done  that  ser 
vice —  that  was  settled;  but  what  was  that  service? 
He  must  recall  it  —  he  would  not  go  to  sleep  till  he 
had  recalled  it ;  it  would  make  his  peace  of  mind 
perfect.  And  so  he  thought  and  thought.  He 
thought  of  a  dozen  things  —  possible  services,  even 
probable  services  —  but  none  of  them  seemed  ade 
quate,  none  of  them  seemed  large  enough,  none  of 
them  seemed  worth  the  money  —  worth  the  fortune 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  37 

Goodson  had  wished  he  could  leave  in  his  will.  And 
besides,  he  couldn't  remember  having  done  them, 
anyway.  Now,  then  —  now,  then  —  what  kind  of 
a  service  would  it  be  that  would  make  a  man  so  in 
ordinately  grateful?  Ah  —  the  saving  of  his  soul! 
That  must  be  it.  Yes,  he  could  remember,  now, 
how  he  once  set  himself  the  task  of  converting 
Goodson,  and  labored  at  it  as  much  as — he  was 
going  to  say  three  months ;  but  upon  closer  exam 
ination  it  shrunk  to  a  month,  then  to  a  week,  then 
to  a  day,  then  to  nothing.  Yes,  he  remembered 
now,  and  with  unwelcome  vividness,  that  Goodson 
had  told  him  to  go  to  thunder  and  mind  his  own 
business  —  lie  wasn't  hankering  to  follow  HadleyA^ 
burg  to  heaven ! 

So  that  solution  was  a  failure  —  he  hadn't  saved 
Goodson's  soul.  Richards  was  discouraged.  Then 
after  a  little  came  another  idea :  had  he  saved  Good- 
son's  property?  No,  that  wouldn't  do  —  he  hadn't 
any.  His  life?  That  is  it!  Of  course.  Why,  he 
might  have  thought  of  it  before.  This  time  he  was 
on  the  right  track,  sure.  His  imagination-mill  was 
hard  at  work  in  a  minute,  now. 

Thereafter  during  a  stretch  of  two  exhausting 
hours  he  was  busy  saving  Goodson's  life.  He 
saved  it  in  all  kinds  of  difficult  and  perilous  ways. 
In  every  case  he  got  it  saved  satisfactorily  up  to  a 
certain  point;  then,  just  as  he  was  beginning  to  get 
well  persuaded  that  it  had  really  happened,  a 
troublesome  detail  would  turn  up  which  made  the 


jS  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

whole  thing  impossible.  As  in  the  matter  of  drown 
ing,  for  instance.  In  that  case  he  had  swum  out 
and  tugged  Goodson  ashore  in  an  unconscious 
state  with  a  great  crowd  looking  on  and  applauding, 
but  when  he  had  got  it  all  thought  out  and  was  just 
beginning  to  remember  all  about  it,  a  whole  swarm 
of  disqualifying  details  arrived  on  the  ground :  the 
town  would  have  known  of  the  circumstance,  Mary 
would  have  known  of  it,  it  would  glare  like  a  lime 
light  in  his  own  memory  instead  of  being  an  incon 
spicuous  service  which  he  had  possibly  rendered 
"  without  knowing  its  full  value."  And  at  this 
point  he  remembered  that  he  couldn't  swim,  any 
way. 

Ah  —  there  was  a  point  which  he  had  been  over 
looking  from  the  start:  it  had  to  be  a  service  which 
he  had  rendered  "  possibly  without  knowing  the  full 
value  of  it."  Why,  really,  that  ought  to  be  an  easy 
hunt — much  easier  than  those  others.  And  sure 
enough,  by  and  by  he  found  it.  Goodson,  years 
and  years  ago,  came  near  marrying  a  very  sweet 
and  pretty  girl,  named  Nancy  Hewitt,  but  in  some 
way  or  other  the  match  had  been  broken  off ;  the 
girl  died,  Goodson  remained  a  bachelor,  and  by 
and  by  became  a  soured  one  and  a  frank  despiser 
of  the  human  species.  Soon  after  the  girl's  death 
the  village  found  out,  or  thought  it  had  found  out, 
that  she  carried  a  spoonful  of  negro  blood  in  her 
veins.  Richards  worked  at  these  details  a  good 
while,  and  in  the  end  he  thought  he  remembered 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  39 

things  concerning  them  which  must  have  gotten 
mislaid  in  his  memory  through  long  neglect.  He 
seemed  to  dimly  remember  that  it  was  he  that  found! 
out  about  the  negro  blood ;  that  it  was  he  that  told 
the  village;  that  the  village  told  Goodson  where 
they  got  it;  that  he  thus  saved  Goodson  from 
marrying  the  tainted  girl ;  that  he  had  done  him  this 
great  service  "without  knowing  the  full  value  of 
it,"  in  fact  without  knowing  that  he  was  doing  it; 
but  that  Goodson  knew  the  value  of  it,  and  what  a 
narrow  escape  he  had  had,  and  so  went  to  his  grave 
grateful  to  his  benefactor  and  wishing  he  had  a  for 
tune  to  leave  him.  It  was  all  clear  and  simple  now, 
and  the  more  he  went  over  it  the  more  luminous  and 
certain  it  grew;  and  at  last,  when  he  nestled  to  sleep 
satisfied  and  happy,  he  remembered  the  whole  thing 
just  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday.  In  fact,  he  dimly 
remembered  Goodson 's  telling  him  his  gratitude 
once,  Meantime  Mary  had  spent  six  thousand  dol 
lars  on  a  new  house  for  herself  and  a  pair  of  slippers 
for  her  pastor,  and  then  had  fallen  peacefully  to 
rest. 

That  same  Saturday  evening  the  postman  had  de 
livered  a  letter  to  each  of  the  other  principal  citizens 
-  nineteen  letters  in  all.  No  two  of  the  envelopes 
were  alike,  and  no  two  of  the  superscriptions  were 
in  the  same  hand,  but  the  letters  inside  were  just 
like  each  other  in  every  detail  but  one.  They  were 
exact  copies  of  the  letter  received  by  Richards  — 
handwriting  and  all —  and  were  all  signed  by  Stephen- 


40  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

son,  but  in  place  of  Richards's  name  each  receiver's 
own  name  appeared. 

All  night  long  eighteen  principal  citizens  did  what 
their  caste-brother  Richards  was  doing  at  the  same 
time  —  they  put  in  their  energies  trying  to  remember 
what  notable  service  it  was  that  they  had  uncon 
sciously  done  Barclay  Goodson.  In  no  case  was  it 
a  holiday  job;  still  they  succeeded. 

And  while  they  were  at  this  work,  which  was  diffi 
cult,  their  wives  put  in  the  night  spending  the 
money,  which  was  easy.  During  that  one  night  the 
nineteen  wives  spent  an  average  of  seven  thousand 
dollars  each  out  of  the  forty  thousand  in  the  sack  — 
a  hundred  and  thirty-three  thousand  altogether. 

Next  day  there  was  a  surprise  for  Jack  Halliday. 
He  noticed  that  the  faces  of  the  nineteen  chief 
citizens  and  their  wives  bore  that  expression  of 
peaceful  and  holy  happiness  again.  He  could  not 
understand  it,  neither  was  he  able  to  invent  any 
remarks  about  it  that  could  damage  it  or  disturb  it. 
And  so  it  was  his  turn  to  be  dissatisfied  with  life. 
His  private  guesses  at  the  reasons  for  the  happiness 
failed  in  all  instances,  upon  examination.  When  he 
met  Mrs.  Wilcox  and  noticed  the  placid  ecstasy  in 
her  face,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Her  cat  has  had 
kittens  ' '  —  and  went  and  asked  the  cook :  it  was  not 
so;  the  cook  had  detected  the  happiness,  but  did  not 
know  the  cause.  When  Halliday  found  the  duplicate 
ecstasy  in  the  face  of  "  Shadbelly  "  Billson  (village 
nickname),  he  was  sure  some  neighbor  of  Billson's 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  41 

had  broken  his  leg,  but  inquiry  showed  that  this  had 
not  happened.  The  subdued  ecstasy  in  Gregory 
Yates's  face  could  mean  but  one  thing — he  was  a 
mother-in-law  short:  it  was  another  mistake.  "And 
Pinkerton  —  Pinkerton  —  he  has  collected  ten  cents 
that  he  thought  he  was  going  to  lose."  And  so  on, 
and  so  on.  In  some  cases  the  guesses  had  to  re 
main  in  doubt,  in  the  others  they  proved  distinct 
errors.  In  the  end  Halliday  said  to  himself,  "  Any 
way  it  foots  up  that  there's  nineteen  Hadleyburg 
families  temporarily  in  heaven:  I  don't  know  how  it 
happened;  I  only  know  Providence  is  off  duty 
to-day." 

An  architect  and  builder  from  the  next  State  had 
lately  ventured  to  set  up  a  small  business  in  this 
unpromising  village,  and  his  sign  had  now  been 
hanging  out  a  week.  Not  a  customer  yet;  he  was  a 
discouraged  man,  and  sorry  he  had  come.  But  his 
weather  changed  suddenly  now.  First  one  and  then 
another  chief  citizen's  wife  said  to  him  privately: 

"  Come  to  my  house  Monday  week — but  say  noth 
ing  about  it  for  the  present.  We  think  of  building." 

He  got  eleven  invitations  that  day.  That  night 
he  wrote  his  daughter  and  broke  off  her  match  with 
her  student.  He  said  she  could  marry  a  mile  higher 
than  that. 

Pinkerton  the  banker  and  two  or  three  other  well- 
to-do  men  planned  country-seats  —  but  waited.  That 
kind  don't  count  their  chickens  until  they  are 
hatched. 


42  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadley burg 

The  Wilsons  devised  a  grand  new  thing  —  a  fancy- 
dress  ball.  They  made  no  actual  promises,  but  told 
all  their  acquaintanceship  in  confidence  that  they 
were  thinking  the  matter  over  and  thought  they 
should  give  it — "  and  if  we  do,  you  will  be  invited, 
of  course."  People  were  surprised,  and  said,  one 
to  another,  "Why,  they  are  crazy,  those  poor 
Wilsons,  they  can't  afford  it."  Several  among  the 
nineteen  said  privately  to  their  husbands,  "It  is  a 
good  idea :  we  will  keep  still  till  their  cheap  thing  is 
over,  then  we  will  give  one  that  will  make  it  sick." 

The  days  drifted  along,  and  the  bill  of  future 
squanderings  rose  higher  and  higher,  wilder  and 
wilder,  more  and  more  foolish  and  reckless.  It 
began  to  look  as  if  every  member  of  the  nineteen 
would  not  only  spend  his  whole  forty  thousand  dol 
lars  before  receiving-day,  but  be  actually  in  debt  by 
the  time  he  got  the  money.  In  some_  cases  light- 
[ headed  people  did  not  stop  with  planning^  to  spend, 

they  really  spent-—  on _crediL They  bought  land, 

"mortgages,  farms,  speculative  stocks,  fine  clothes, 
horses,  and  various  other  things,  paid  down  the 
bonus,  and  made  themselves  liable  for  the  rest  — at 
ten  days.  Presently  the  sober  second  thought  came, 
and  Halliday  noticed  that  a  ghastly  anxiety  was  be 
ginning  to  show  up  in  a  good  many  faces.  Again 
he  was  puzzled,  and  didn't  know  what  to  make  of 
it.  "The  Wilcox  kittens  aren't  dead,  for  they 
weren't  born;  nobody's  broken  a  leg;  there's  no 
shrinkage  in  mother-in-laws ;  nothing"  has  happened 
—  it  is  an  unsolvable  mystery." 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  41 

There  was  another  puzzled  man,  too  —  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Burgess.  For  days,  wherever  he  went,  people 
seemed  to  follow  him  or  to  be  watching  out  for  him  ; 
and  if  he  ever  found  himself  in  a  retired  spot,  a 
member  of  the  nineteen  would  be  sure  to  appear, 
thrust  an  envelope  privately  into  his  hand,  whisper 
'To  be  opened  at  the  town-hall  Friday  evening," 
then  vanish  away  like  a  guilty  thing.  He  was  ex 
pecting  that  there  might  be  one  claimant  for  the  sack, 
—  doubtful,  however,  Goodson  being  dead,  —  but  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  all  this  crowd  might  be 
claimants.  When  the  great  Friday  came  at  last,  he 
found  that  he  had  nineteen  envelopes. 


The  town-hall  had  never  looked  finer.  The  plat 
form  at  the  end  of  it  was  backed  by  a  showy  draping 
of  flags;  at  intervals  along  the  walls  were  festoons  of 
flags  ;  the  gallery  fronts  were  clothed  in  flags  ;  the 
supporting  columns  were  swathed  in  flags  ;  all  this 
was  to  impress  the  stranger,  for  he  would  be  there 
in  considerable  force,  and  in  a  large  degree  he  would 
be  connected  with  the  press.  The  house  was  full. 
The  412  fixed  seats  were  occupied;  also  the  68 
extra  chairs  which  had  been  packed  into  the  aisles  ; 
the  steps  of  the  platform  were  occupied  ;  some  dis 
tinguished  strangers  were  given  seats  on  the  plat 
form  ;  at  the  horseshoe  of  tables  which  fenced  the 
front  and  sides  of  the  platform  sat  a  strong  force  of 
special  correspondents  who  had  come  from  every- 


44  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

where.  It  was  the  best-dressed  house  the  town  had 
ever  produced.  There  were  some  tolerably  expen 
sive  toilets  there,  and  in  several  cases  the  ladies  who 
wore  them  had  the  look  of  being  unfamiliar  with  that 
kind  of  clothes.  At  least  the  town  thought  they  had 
that  look,  but  the  notion  could  have  arisen  from  the 
town's  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  these  ladies  had 
never  inhabited  such  clothes  before. 

The  gold-sack  stood  on  a  little  table  at  the  front 
of  the  platform  where  all  the  house  could  see  it. 
The  bulk  of  the  house  gazed  at  it  with  a  burning  in 
terest,  a  mouth-watering  interest,  a  wistful  and 
pathetic  interest;  a  minority  of  nineteen  couples 
gazed  at  it  tenderly,  lovingly,  proprietarily,  and  the 
male  half  of  this  minority  kept  saying  over  to  them 
selves  the  moving  little  impromptu  speeches  of 
thankfulness  for  the  audience's  applause  and  con 
gratulations  which  they  were  presently  going  to  get 
up  and  deliver.  Every  now  and  then  one  of  these 
got  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  vest  pocket  and 
privately  glanced  at  it  to  refresh  his  memory. 

Of  course  there  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  going 
on  —  there  always  is;  but  at  last  when  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Burgess  rose  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  sack  he  could 
hear  his  microbes  gnaw,  the  place  was  so  still.  He 
related  the  curious  history  of  the  sack,  then  went  on 
to  speak  in  warm  terms  of  Hadleyburg's  old  and 
well-earned  reputation  for  spotless  honesty,  and  of 
the  town's  just  pride  in  this  reputation.  He  said  that 
this  reputation  was  a  treasure  of  priceless  value; 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  45 

that  under  Providence  its  value  had  now  become 
inestimably  enhanced,  for  the  recent  episode  had 
spread  this  fame  far  and  wide,  and  thus  had  focused 
the  eyes  of  the  American  world  upon  this  village, 
and  mad  its*  name  for  all  time,  as 


.. 

believed,  a  synonym  fgr-'commercial  incorruptibility. 
\_Applatise.']  "  And  who  is  to  be  the  guardian  of 
this  noble  treasure  —  the  community  as  a  whole? 
No  !  The  responsibility  is  individual,  not  communal. 
From  this  day  forth  each  and  every  one  of  you  is  in 
his  own  person  its  special  guardian,  and  individually 
res]3  isiblc.  that  no  harm  shall  come  to  it.  Do  you 

-  does    each    of    you  —  accept    this    great    trust? 
\Tumultuous  assent.~\     Then  all  is  well.     Transmit! 
it  to  your  children  and  to  your  children's  children. 

o-day  your  purity  is  beyond  reproach  —  see  to  it 
that  it  shall  remain  so.  To-day  there  is  not  a 
person  in  your  community  who  could  be  beguiled 
to  touch  a  penny  not  his  own  —  see  to  it  that  you 
abid  in  this  grace.  ["  We  will!  we  will!"'] 
This  is  not  the  place  to  make  comparisons  between 
ourselves  and  other  communities  —  some  of  them 
ungracious  toward  us;  they  have  their  ways,  we 
have  ours;  let  us  be  content.  \Applause  J\  I  am 
Under  my  hand,  my  friends,  rests  a  stranger's 
eloquent  recognition  of  what  we  are  ;  through  him 
the  world  will  always  henceforth  know  what  we  are. 
We  do  not  know  who  he  is,  but  in  your  name  I 
utter  your  gratitude,  and  ask  you  to  raise  your 
voi  <  in  endorsement." 


46  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

The  house  rose  in  a  body  and  made  the  walls 
quake  with  the  thunders  of  its  thankfulness  for  the 
space  of  a  long  minute.  Then  it  sat  down,  and  Mr. 
Burgess  took  an  envelope  out  of  his  pocket.  The 
house  held  its  breath  while  he  slit  the  envelope  open 
and  took  from  it  a  slip  of  paper.  He  read  its  con 
tents  —  slowly  and  impressively  —  the  audience 
listening  with  tranced  attention  to  this  magic  docu 
ment,  each  of  whose  words  stood  for  an  ingot  of 
gold: 

" '  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  distressed 
stranger  was  this :  "  You  are  very  far  from  being  a 
bad  man:  go,  and  reform."  Then  he  continued: 

4 '  We  shall  know  in  a  moment  now  whether  the  re 
mark  here  quoted  corresponds  with  the  one  con 
cealed  in  the  sack;  and  if  that  shall  prove  to  be  so 
—  and  it  undoubtedly  will —  this  sack  of  gold  be 
longs  to  a  fellow-citizen  who  will  henceforth  stand 
before  the  nation  as  the  symbol  of  the  special  virtue 
which  has  made  our  town  famous  throughout  the 
land  — Mr.  Billson  !  " 

The  house  had  gotten  itself  all  ready  to  burst  into 
the  proper  tornado  of  applause;  but  instead  of 
doing  it,  it  seemed  stricken  with  a  paralysis;  there 
was  a  deep  hush  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  a  wave 
of  whispered  murmurs  swept  the  place  —  of  about 
this  tenor:  "Billson!  oh,  come,  this  is  too  thin! 
Twenty  dollars  to  a  stranger — or  anybody  —  Bill- 
son!  tell  it  to  the  marines!  "  And  now  it  this 
point  the  house  caught  its  breath  all  of  a  sudden  in 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  47 

a  new  access  of  astonishment,  for  it  discovered  that 
whereas  in  one  part  of  the  hall  Deacon  Billson  was 
standing  up  with  his  head  meekly  bowed,  in  another 
part  of  it  Lawyer  Wilson  was  doing  the  same. 
There  was  a  wondering  silence  now  for  a  while. 
Everybody  was  puzzled,  and  nineteen  couples 
were  surprised  and  indignant. 

Billson    and    Wilson   turned    and    stared    at    each 
other.      Billson  asked,  bitingly, 

14  Why  do  you  rise,  Mr.  Wilson?  " 
"  Because  I  have  a  right  to.     Perhaps  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  explain  to  the  house  why  you  rise?  " 
With    great   pleasure.       Because    I    wrote    that 
paper." 

ft  is  an  impudent  falsity!      I  wrote  it  myself." 

vas  Burgess's  turn  to  be  paralyzed.      He  stood 

king  vacantly  at  first  one  of  the  men  and  then  the 

r    and  did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  do.     The 

•vise    was   stupefied.      Lawyer   Wilson   spoke    up, 

nov     and  said, 

ask  the  Chair  to  read  the  name  signed  to  that 
» > 

\  it  brought  the  Chair  to  itself,  and  it  read  out 

the  n:ime, 

1  John  Wharton  Billson:  " 

There!  "  shouted  Billson,  "what  have  you  got 

^ay    for    yourself,    now?      And    what   kind    of 

apology  are  you   going  to  make  to   me  and  to  this 

insulted    house  for    the  imposture-  which  you  have 

attempted  to  play  here?  " 


48  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"No  apologies  are  due,  sir;  and  as  for  the  rest 
of  it,  I  publicly  charge  you  with  pilfering  my  note 
from  Mr.  Burgess  and  substituting  a  copy  of  it 
signed  with  your  own  name.  There  is  no  other  way 
by  which  you  could  have  gotten  hold  of  the  test- 
remark;  I  alone,  of  living  men,  possessed  the  secret 
of  its  wording." 

There  was  likely  to  be  a  scandalous  state  of  things 
if  this  went  on ;  everybody  noticed  with  distress  that 
the  short-hand  scribes  were  scribbling  like  mad ; 
many  people  were  crying  "Chair,  Chair!  Order! 
order!  "  Burgess  rapped  with  his  gavel,  and  said: 

"Let  us  not  forget  the  proprieties  due.  Thefe 
has  evidently  been  a  mistake  somewhere,  but  surely 
that  is  all.  If  Mr.  Wilson  gave  me  an  envelope  — 
and  I  remember  now  that  he  did  —  I  still  have  it." 

He  took  one  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  it,  glanced 
at  it,  looked  surprised  and  worried,  and  stood  silent 
a  few  moments.  Then  he  waved  his  hand  in  a 
wandering  and  mechanical  way,  and  made  an  effort 
or  two  to  say  something,  then  gave  it  up,  despond 
ently.  Several  voices  cried  out : 

"  Read  it !   read  it !     What  is  it?  " 

So  he  began  in  a  dazed  and  sleep-walker  fashion : 

" '  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  nnhapp}  stran 
ger  was  this :  "You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man. 
[The  house  gazed  at  him,  marveling.]  Go,  and 
reform."  {Murmurs:  "  Amazing!  what  can  this 
mean?"]  This  one,"  said  the  Chair,  "is  signed 
Thurlow  G.  Wilson." 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  49 

"here!"   cried  Wilson,  "I  reckon  that  settles 

knew  perfectly  well  my  note  was  purloined." 

urloined !  "     retorted    Billson.      "I'll   let  you 

know  that  neither  you  nor  any  man  of  your  kidney 

must  venture  to  — 

/I,'  Chair.  "Order,  gentlemen,  order!  Take 
your  seats,  both  of  you,  please." 

They  obeyed,  shaking  their  heads  and  grumbling 
angrily.       The    house    was    profoundly  puzzled ;    it 
did  not  know  what  to   do  with    this  curious  emer 
gency.      Presently  Thompson   got  up.      Thompson 
s  the  hatter.      He  would  have  liked  to  be  a  Nine- 
teener;   but  such  was  not  for  him:   his  stock  of  hats 
-      ot  considerable  enough  for  the  position.     He 
said : 

Mr.  Chairman,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  make  a 
suggestion,  can  both  of  these  gentlemen  be  right? 
1  put  it  to  you,  sir,  can  both  have  happened  to  say 
the  very  same  words  to  the  stranger?  It  seems  to 
me-  " 

The  tanner  got   up    and    interrupted    him.     The 

tanne1   was  a  disgruntled  man;   he  believed  himself 

enti      I   to  be  a    Nineteener,    but    he    couldn't    get 

ition.      It  made  him  a  little  unpleasant  in  his 

ways    nd  speech.     Said  he  : 

Sao,  thafs  not  the  point !      That  could  happen 

-twice    in    a    hundred   years  —  but   not   the   other 

thin^.     Neither  of  them  gave  the  twenty  dollars !" 

>'ipple  of  applause.  ] 
Bill  son.     "/did!" 


50  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

Wilson,     "/did!  " 

Then  each  accused  the  other  of  pilfering. 

The  Chair.  "Order!  Sit  down,  if  you  please 
— -both  of  you.  Neither  of  the  notes  has  been  out 
of  my  possession  at  any  moment." 

A   Voice.      ' '  Good  —  that  settles  that !  " 

The  Tanner.  "Mr.  Chairman,  one  thing  is  now 
plain :  one  of  these  men  has  been  eavesdropping  un 
der  the  other  one's  bed,  and  filching  family  secrets. 
If  it  is  not  unparliamentary  to  suggest  it,  I  will  re 
mark  that  both  are  equal  to  it.  [The  Chair.  ' '  Order  ! 
order !  "]  I  withdraw  the  remark,  sir,  and  will  con 
fine  myself  to  suggesting  that  if  one  of  them  has 
overheard  the  other  reveal  the  test-remark  to  his 
wife,  we  shall  catch  him  now." 

A    Voice.     "How?" 

The  Tanner.  ll  Easily.  The  two  have  not 
quoted  the  remark  in  exactly  the  same  words.  You 
would  have  noticed  that,  if  there  hadn't  been  a  con 
siderable  stretch  of  time  and  an  exciting  quarrel  in 
serted  between  the  two  readings." 

A    Voice.      "  Name  the  difference." 

The  Tanner.  "The  word  very  is  in  Billson's 
note,  and  not  in  the  other." 

Many  Voices.      ' '  That's  so  —  he's  right !  ' ' 

The  Tanner.  "  And  so,  if  the  Chair  will  examine 
the  test-remark  in  the  sack,  we  shall  know  which  of 
these  two  frauds —  \The  Chair.  "Order!"]  — 
which  of  these  two  adventurers —  \Thc  Chair. 
*  *  Order  !  order  !  "  ]  —  which  of  these  two  gentlemen 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  si 

—  \JaugJiter  and  applause\  —  is  entitled  to  wear  the 
belt  as  being  the  first  dishonest  blatherskite  ever 
bred  in  this  town — which  he  has  dishonored,  and 
which  will  be  a  sultry  place  for  him  from  now  out!" 
[  Vigorous  applause.  ] 

Many  Voices.     ' '  Open  it !  —  open  the  sack  !  ' ' 

Mr.  Burgess  made  a  slit  in  the  sack,  slid  his  hand 
in  and  brought  out  an  envelope.  In  it  were  a 
couple  of  folded  notes.  He  said: 

"  One  of  these  is  marked,  '  Not  to  be  examined 

until    all   written   communications  which   have  been 

aci<ir  ssed  to  the  Chair  —  if  any  —  shall  have  been 

The    other    is    marked    '  The    Test.'     Allow 

It  is  worded  —  to  wit: 

I  do  not  require  that  the  first  half  of  the  re 
mark  which  was  made  to  me  by  my  benefactor  shall 
be  quoted  with  exactness,  for  it  was  not  striking, 
and  could  be  forgotten;  but  its  closing  fifteen  words 
are  quite  striking,  and  I  think  easily  rememberable ; 
un!<  these  shall  be  accurately  reproduced,  let  the 
apj  ant  be  regarded  as  an  impostor.  My  bene- 
began  by  saying  he  seldom  gave  advice  to  any 
one.  )ut  that  it  always  bore  the  hall-mark  of  high 
e  when  he  did  give  it.  Then  he  said  this  —  and 
it  has  never  faded  from  my  memory :  "  You  are  far 
from  being  a  bad  man  —  " 

Fifty  Voices.  "That  settles  it  —  the  money's 
Wilson's  !  Wilson  !  Wilson  !  Speech  !  Speech  !  ' ' 

People  jumped  up  and  crowded  around  Wilson, 
wringing  his  hand  and  congratulating  fervently — • 


52  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

meantime  the  Chair  was  hammering  with  the  gavel 
and  shouting: 

"  Order,  gentlemen!  Order!  Order!  Let  me 
finish  reading,  please."  When  quiet  was  restored, 
the  reading  was  resumed  —  as  follows  : 

"  '  "  Go,  and  reform  —  or,  mark  my  words  —  some 
day,  for  your  sins,  yon  will  die  and  go  to  hell  or  Had- 


A  ghastly  silence  followed.  First  an  angry  cloud 
began  to  settle  darkly  upon  the  faces  of  the  citizen 
ship  ;  after  a  pause  the  cloud  began  to  rise,  and  a 
tickled  expression  tried  to  take  its  place;  tried  so 
hard  that  it  was  only  kept  under  with  great  and 
painful  difficulty;  the  reporters,  the  Brixtonites, 
and  other  strangers  bent  their  heads  down  and 
shielded  their  faces  with  their  hands,  and  managed 
to  hold  in  by  main  strength  and  heroic  courtesy. 
At  this  most  inopportune  time  burst  upon  the  still 
ness  the  roar  of  a  solitary  voice  —  Jack  Halliday's: 

"  That's  got  the  hall-mark  on  it  !  " 

Then  the  house  let  go,  strangers  and  all.  Even 
Mr.  Burgess's  gravity  broke  down  presently,  then 
the  audience  considered  itself  officially  absolved  from 
all  restraint,  and  it  made  the  most  of  its  privilege. 
It  was  a  good  long  laugh,  and  a  tempestuously 
whole-hearted  one,  but  it  ceased  at  last  —  long 
enough  for  Mr.  Burgess  to  try  to  resume,  and  for 
the  people  to  get  their  eyes  partially  wiped  ;  then  it 
broke  out  again;  and  afterward  yet  again;  then  at 
last  Burgess  was  able  to  get  out  these  serious  words: 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  53 

"  It  is  useless  to  try  to  disguise  the  fact  —  we  find 
ourselves  in  the  presence  of  a  matter  of  grave  import. 
It  involves  the  honor  of  your  town,  it  strikes  at  the 
town's  good  name.  The  difference  of  a  single  word 
bet\veen  the  test-remarks  offered  by  Mr.  Wilson  and 
Mr.  Billson  was  itself  a  serious  thing,  since  it  indi 
cated  that  one  or  the  other  of  these  gentlemen  had 
committed  a  theft  —  " 

The  two  men  were  sitting  limp,  nerveless,  crushed  ; 
but  at  these  words  both  were  electrified  into  move 
ment,  and  started  to  get  up  — 

"Sit  down!  "  said  the  Chair,  sharply,  and  they 
obeyed.  '  That,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  serious  thing. 
And  it  was  —  but  for  only  one  of  them.  But  the 
matter  has  become  graver;  for  the  honor  of  both  is 
p^rP  Shall  I  go  even  further, 


and  say  in  inextricable  peril?  Both  left  out  the 
crucial  fifteen  words."  He  paused.  During  several 
moments  he  allowed  the  pervading  stillness  to  gather 
and  deepen  its  impressive  effects,  then  added  : 
'  '  There  would  seem  to  be  but  one  way  whereby  this 
could  happen.  I  ask  these  gentlemen  —  Was  there 
collusion  ?  —  agreement  ?  ' 

A  low  murmur  sifted  through  the  house  ;  its  im 
port  was,  "  He's  got  them  both." 

Billson  was  not  used  to  emergencies  ;  he  sat  in  a 
helpless  collapse.  But  Wilson  was  a  lawyer.  He 
struggled  to  his  feet,  pale  and  worried,  and  said: 

"  I  ask  the  indulgence  of  the  house  while  I  explain 
this  most  painful  matter.  I  am  sorry  to  say  what  I 


54  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

am  about  to  say,  since  it  must  inflict  irreparable  in 
jury  upon  Mr.  Billson,  whom  I  have  always  esteemed 
and  respected  until  now,  and  in  whose  invulnerability 
to  temptation  I  entirely  believed  —  as  did  you  all. 
But  for  the  preservation  of  my  own  honor  I  must 
speak  —  and  with  frankness.  I  confess  with  shame 
—  and  I  now  beseech  your  pardon  for  it  —  that  I 
said  to  the  ruined  stranger  all  of  the  words  con 
tained  in  the  test-remark,  including  the  disparaging 
fifteen.  \SensationJ\  -When  the  late  publication 
was  made  I  recalled  them,  and  I  resolved  to  claim 
the  sack  of  coin,  for  by  every  right  I  was  entitled  to 
it.  Now  I  will  ask  you  to  consider  this  point,  and 
weigh  it  well:  that  stranger's  gratitude  to  me  that 
night  knew  no  bounds  ;  he  said  himself  that  he  could 
find  no  words  for  it  that  were  adequate,  and  that  if 
he  should  ever  be  able  he  would  repay  me  a  thou 
sand  fold.  Now,  then,  I  ask  you  this:  Could  I  ex 
pect —  could  I  believe  —  could  I  even  remotely 
imagine  —  that,  feeling  as  he  did,  he  would  do  so 
ungrateful  a  thing  as  to  add  those  quite  unnecessary 
fifteen  words  to  his  test?  —  set  a  trap  for  me?  — 
expose  me  as  a  slanderer  of  my  own  town  before  my 
own  people  assembled  in  a  public  hall?  It  was  pre 
posterous;  it  was  impossible.  His  test  would  con 
tain  only  the  kindly  opening  clause  of  my  remark. 
Of  that  I  had  no  shadow  of  doubt.  You  would 
have  thought  as  I  did.  You  would  not  have  ex 
pected  a  base  betrayal  from  one  whom  you  had  be 
friended  and  against  whom  you  had  committed  no 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  55 

fense.  And  so,  with  perfect  confidence,  perfect 
t*  jst,  I  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper  the  opening  words 

-ending  with  'Go,   and  reform,' — and   signed  it. 

1    hen  I  was  about  to  put  it  in  an  envelope  I  was 

died  into  my  back  office,  and  without  thinking  I 

<  :t   the    paper    lying    open    on     my    desk."       He 

opped,    turned    his    head    slowly    toward    Billson, 

lited  a  moment,  then  added:  "  I  ask  you  to  note 
this:  when  I  returned,  a  little  later,  Mr.  Billson  was 
retiring  by  my  street  door."  [Sensation.'] 

In  a  moment  Billson  was  on  his  feet  and  shouting: 

41  It's  a  lie  !      It's  an  infamous  lie  !  " 

The  Chair.  "Be  seated,  sir!  Mr.  Wilson  has 
tie  floor." 

Billson' s  friends  pulled  him.  into  his  seat  and 
i  lieted  him,  and  Wilson  went  on: 

"  Those  are  the  simple  facts.  My  note  was  now 
iving  in  a  different  place  on  the  table  from  where  I 
nad  left  it.  I  noticed  that,  but  attached  no  import- 
.  .ce  to  it,  thinking  a  draught  had  blown  it  there. 

lat  Mr.  Billson  would  read  a  private  paper  was  a 
i  ing  which  could  not  occur  to  me ;  he  was  an 
morable  man,  and  he  would  be  above  that.  If 
\  >u  will  allow  me  to  say  it,  I  think  his  extra  word: 
'  'cry  '  stands  explained  ;  it  is  attributable  to  a  defect1 
of  memory.  I  was  the  only  man  in  the  world  who 
could  furnish  here  any  detail  of  the  test-remark  —  by 
honorable  means.  I  have  finished." 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  a  persuasive 
-peech  to  fuddle  the  mental  apparatus  and  upset  the 


56  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

convictions  and  debauch  the  emotions  of  an  audience 
not  practiced  in  the  tricks  and  delusions  of  oratory. 
Wilson  sat  down  victorious.  The  house  submerged 
him  in  tides  of  approving  applause ;  friends  swarmed 
to  him  and  shook  him  by  the  hand  and  congratu 
lated  him,  and  Billson  was  shouted  down  and  not 
allowed  to  say  a  word.  The  Chair  hammered  and 
hammered  with  its  gavel,  and  kept  shouting, 

11  But  let  us  proceed,  gentlemen,  let  us  proceed !  " 

At  last  there  was  a  measurable  degree  of  quiet, 
and  the  hatter  said : 

"  But  what  is  there  to  proceed  with,  sir,  but  to  de 
liver  the  money?  " 

Voices.  "That's  it!  That's  it!  Come  forward, 
Wilson!" 

The  Hatter.  "I  move  three  cheers  for  Mr. 
Wilson,  Symbol  of  the  special  virtue  which  — 

The  cheers  burst  forth  before  he  could  finish ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  them  —  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
clamor  of  the  gavel  also  —  some  enthusiasts  mounted 
Wilson  on  a  big  friend's  shoulder  and  were  going  to 
fetch  him  in  triumph  to  the  platform.  The  Chair's 
voice  now  rose  above  the  noise  — 

"Order!  To  your  places!  You  forget  that 
there  is  still  a  document  to  be  read."  When  quiet 
had  been  restored  he  took  up  the  document,  and 
was  going  to  read  it,  but  laid  it  down  again,  saying, 
"I  forgot;  this  is  not  to  be  read  until  all  written 
communications  received  by  me  have  first  been 
read."  He  took  an  envelope  out  of  his  pocket, 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  S7 

removed  its  enclosure,  glanced  at  it  —  seemed 
astonished  —  held  it  out  and  gazed  at  it  —  stared 
at  it. 

Twenty  or  thirty  voices  cried  out : 

11  What  is  it?     Read  it !   read  it !  " 

And  he  did  —  slowly,  and  wondering: 

'  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  stranger  — 
[  Voices.  ' '  Hello  !  how' s  this  ?  "  ]  —  was  this : 
'You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man.  [  Voices. 
"Great  Scott!"]  Go,  and  reform.'"  [Voice. 
"  Oh,  saw  my  leg  off!  "]  Signed  by  Mr.  Pinker- 
ton  the  banker." 

The  pandemonium  of  delight  which  turned  itself 
loose  now  was  of  a  sort  to  make  the  judicious  weep. 
Those  whose  withers  were  unwrung  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down;  the  reporters,  in  throes  of  laughter, 
set  down  disordered  pot-hooks  which  would  never 
in  the  world  be  decipherable ;  and  a  sleeping  dog 
jumped  up,  scared  out  of  its  wits,  and  barked  itself 
crazy  at  the  turmoil.  All  manner  of  cries  were  scat 
tered  through  the  din:  "We're  getting  rich  —  two 
Symbols  of  Incorruptibility! — without  counting 
Billson  !  "  ' 4  Three  !  —  count  Shadbelly  in  —  we 
can't  have  too  many!"  "All  right  —  Ellison's 
elected!"  "Alas,  poor  Wilson  —  victim  of  two 
thieves!" 

*  A"' Powerful  Voice.  ' '  Silence  !  The  Chair's 
fished  up  something  more  out  of  its  pocket." 

Voices.  "Hurrah!  Is  it  something  fresh?  Read 
it !  read  !  read  !  ' ' 


5  8  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

The  Chair  \reading.~\  *  The  remark  which  I 

made/  etc. :  "  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man. 
Go,"  etc.  Signed,  "  Gregory  Yates."  " 

Tornado  of  Voices.  "Four  Symbols!"  "'Rah 
for  Yates!"  "  Fish  again  !  " 

The  house  was  in  a  roaring  humor  now,  and  ready 
to  get  all  the  fun  out  of  the  occasion  that  might  be 
in  it.  Several  Nineteeners,  looking  pale  and  dis 
tressed,  got  up  and  began  to  work  their  way  toward 
the  aisles,  but  a  score  of  shouts  went  up : 

"The  doors,  the  doors  —  close  the  doors;  n£jn_- 
corruptible  shall  leave  this,  place  !  Sit  down,  every 
body !" 

The  mandate  was  obeyed. 

"  Fish  again  !      Read  !   read  !  " 

The  Chair  fished  again,  and  once  more  the  familiar 
words  began  to  fall  from  its  lips  —  "  '  You  are  far 
from  being  a  bad  man  —  ' 

"  Name  !   name  !     What's  his  name?  " 

"  '  L.  Ingoldsby  Sargent.'  " 

"Five  elected!  Pile  up  the  Symbols !  Go  on, 
go  on !  " 

* '  *  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  —  ' 

"Name!    name!" 

"'  Nicholas  Whitworth.'" 

"  Hooray  !     hooray  !   it's  a  symbolical  day  !  " 

Somebody  wailed  in,  and  began  to  sing  this  rhyme 
(leaving  out  "  it's  ")  to  the  lovely  "  Mikado  "  tune 
of  "When  a  man's  afraid,  a  beautiful  maid — "; 
the  audience  joined  in,  with  joy;  then,  just  in  time, 
somebody  contributed  another  line  — 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  59 

"  And  don't  you  this  forget — " 

The  house  roared  it  out.  A  third  line  was  at  once 
furnished  — 

"  Corruptibles  far  from  Hadleyburg  are — "    ^ 

The  house  roared  that  one  too.  As  the  last  note 
died,  Jack  Halliday's  voice  rose  high  and  clear, 
freighted  with  a  final  line  — 

"  But  the  Symbols  are  here,  you  bet !  "    •/ 

That  was  sung,  with  booming  enthusiasm.  Then  the 
happy  house  started  in  at  the  beginning  and  sang 
the  four  lines  through  twice,  with  immense  swing 
and  dash,  and  finished  up  with  a  crashing  three- 
times-three  and  a  tiger  for  "  Hadleyburg  the  Incor 
ruptible  and  all  Symbols  of  it  which  we  shall  find 
worthy  to  receive  the  hall-mark  to-night." 

Then  the  shoutings  at  the  Chair  began  again,  all 
over  the  place : 

"Go    on!     go    on!       Read!     read    some    more! 
Read  all  you've  got!  " 

'That's    it — go    on!     We    are   winning   eternal 
celebrity !  " 

A  dozen  men   got  up   now  and  began  to   protest 
They   said   that  this   farce    was   the   work   of    som 
abandoned   joker,   and  was  an    insult  to    the   whole 
community.      Without  a  doubt  these  signatures  were 
all  forgeries  — 

"  Sit  down  !   sit  down  !      Shut  up  !     \"ou  are  con 
fessing.     We'll  find  your  names  in  the  lot." 


60  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  how  many  of  those  envelopes 
have  you  got  ?  ' ' 

The  Chair  counted. 

' '  Together  with  those  that  have  been  already  ex 
amined,  there  are  nineteen." 

A  storm  of  derisive  applause  broke  out. 

"  Perhaps  they  all  contain  the  secret.  I  move 
that  you  open  them  all  and  read  every  signature  that 
is  attached  to  a  note  of  that  sort  —  and  read  also  the 
first  eight  words  of  the  note." 

14  Second  the  motion  !  " 

It  was  put  and  carried  —  uproariously.  Then 
poor  old  Richards  got  up,  and  his  wife  rose  and 
stood  at  his  side.  Her  head  was  bent  down,  so  that 
none  might  see  that  she  was  crying.  Her  husband 
gave  her  his  arm,  and  so  supporting  her,  he  began 
to  speak  in  a  quavering  voice : 

"My  friends,  you  have  known  us  two  —  Mary 
and  me  —  all  our  lives,  and  I  think  you  have  liked 
us  and  respected  us  —  ' ' 

The  Chair  interrupted  him : 

"Allow  me.  It  is  quite  true  —  that  which  you 
are  saying,  Mr.  Richards :  this  town  does  know  you 
two  ;  it  does  like  you ;  it  does  respect  you  ;  more  — 
it  honors  you  and  loves  you  —  ; ' 

Halliday's  voice  rang  out: 

11  That's  the  hall-marked  truth,  too  !  If  the  Chair 
is  right,  let  the  house  speak  up  and  say  it.  Rise ! 
Now,  then  —  hip  !  hip  !  hip  !  —  all  together  !  " 

The  house  rose  in    mass,   faced    toward   the    old 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  6t 

couple  eagerly,  filled  the  air  with  a  snowstorm  of 
waving  handkerchiefs,  and  delivered  the  cheers  with 
all  its  affectionate  heart. 

The  Chair  then  continued  : 

"What  I  was  going  to  say  is  this:  We  know 
your  good  heart,  Mr.  Richards,  but  this  is  not  a 
time  for  the  exeicise  of  charity  toward  offenders. 
[Shouts  of  "Right !  rigJit !  "]  I  see  your  generous 
purpose  in  your  face,  but  I  cannot  allow  you  to 
plead  for  these  men  — 

'  *  But  I  was  going  to  —  " 

11  Please  take  your  seat,  Mr.  Richards.  We  must 
examine  the  rest  of  these  notes  —  simple  fairness  to 
the  men  who  have  already  been  exposed  requires 
this.  As  soon  as  that  has  been  done  —  I  give  you 
my  word  for  this  —  you  shall  be  heard." 

Many  Voices.  '  *  Right !  —  the  Chair  is  right  —  no 
interruption  can  be  permitted  at  this  stage  !  Go  on  ! 
—  the  names  !  the  names  !  —  according  to  the  terms 
of  the  motion  !  " 

The  Old  couple  sat  reluctantly  down,  and  the  hus 
band  whispered  to  the  wife,  "It  is  pitifully  hard  to 
have  to  wait;  the  shame  will  be  greater  than  ever 
when  they  find  we  were  only  going  to  plead  for 
ourselves" 

Straightway  the  jollity  broke  loose  again  with  the 
reading  of  the  names. 

11  'You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man — '  Sig 
nature,  '  Robert  J.  Titmarsh.' 

"  '  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man —  '  Sig 
nature,  4  Eliphalet  Weeks.' 


62  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

"  *  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man — '  Sig 
nature,  '  Oscar  B.  Wilder.'  " 

At  this  point  the  house  lit  upon  the  idea  of  taking 
the  eight  words  out  of  the  Chairman's  hands.  He 
was  not  unthankful  for  that.  Thenceforward  he 
held  up  each  note  in  its  turn,  and  waited.  The 
house  droned  out  the  eight  words  in  a  massed  and 
measured  and  musical  deep  volume  of  sound  (with  a 
daringly  close  resemblance  to  a  well-known  church 
chant)  —  "'You  are  f-a-r  from  being  a  b-a-a-a-d 
man.'  '  Then  the  Chair  said,  "  Signature,  '  Archi- 
.bald  Wilcox.'  '  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  name  after 
name,  and  everybody  had  an  increasingly  and  glori 
ously  good  time  except  the  wretched  Nineteen. 
Now  and  then,  when  a  particularly  shining  name 
was  called,  the  house  made  the  Chair  wait  while  it 
chanted  the  whole  of  the  test-remark  from  the  be 
ginning  to  the  closing  words,  "And  go  to  hell  or 
Hadleyburg  —  try  and  make  it  the  for-or-m-e-r !  " 
and  in  these  special  cases  they  added  a  grand  and 
agonized  and  imposing  "  A-a-a-a-men  /  " 

The  list  dwindled,  dwindled,  dwindled,  poor  old 
Richards  keeping  tally  of  the  count,  wincing  when  a 
name  resembling  his  own  was  pronounced,  and  wait 
ing  in  miserable  suspense  for  the  time  to  come  when 
it  would  be  his  humiliating  privilege  to  rise  with 
Mary  and  finish  his  plea,  which  he  was  intending  to 
word  thus:  "  .  .  .  for  until  now  we  have  never 
done  any  wrong  thing,  but  have  gone  our  humble 
way  unreproached.  We  are  very  poor,  we  are  old, 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  63 

and  have  no  chick  nor  child  to  help  us;  we  were 
sorely  tempted,  and  we  fell.  It  was  my  purpose 
when  I  got  up  before  to  make  confession  and  beg 
that  my  name  might  not  be  read  out  in  this  public 
place,  for  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  could  not  bear  it; 
but  I  was  prevented.  It  was  just;  it  was  our  place 
to  suffer  with  the  rest.  It  has  been  hard  for  us.  It 
is  the  first  time  we  have  ever  heard  our  name  fall 
from  any  one's  lips  —  sullied.  Be  merciful  —  for 
the  sake  of  the  better  days ;  make  our  shame  as 
light  to  bear  as  in  your  charity  you  can."  At  this 
point  in  his  revery  Mary  nudged  him,  perceiving 
that  his  mind  was  absent.  The  house  was  chant 
ing,  "You  are  f-a-r,"  etc. 

"Be  ready,"  Mary  whispered.  'Your  name 
comes  now;  he  has  read  eighteen/' 

The  chant  ended. 

"Next!  next!  next!"  came  volleying  from  all 
over  the  house. 

Burgess  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  The  old 
couple,  trembling,  began  to  rise.  Burgess  fumbled 
a  moment,  then  said, 

"  I  find  I  have  read  them  all." 

Faint  with  joy  and  surprise,  the  couple  sank  into 
their  scats,  and  Mary  whispered, 

"  Oh,  bless  God,  we  are  saved  !  — he  has  lost  ours 
—  I  wouldn't  give  this  for  a  hundred  of  those 
sacks!" 

The  house  burst  out  with  its  "  Mikado  "  travesty, 
and  sang  it  three  times  with  ever-increasing  enthu  • 


b4  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

siasm,  rising  to  its  feet  when  it  reached  for  the  third 
time  the  closing  line  — 

"  But  the  Symbols  are  here,  you  bet !  " 

and  finishing  up  with  cheers  and  a  tiger  for  "  Had- 
leyburg  purity  and  our  eighteen  immortal  representa 
tives  of  it." 

Then  Wingate,  the  saddler,  got  up  and  proposed 
cheers  "  for  the  cleanest  man  in  town,  the  one  soli 
tary  important  citizen  in  it  who  didn't  try  to  steal 
that  money  —  Edward  Richards." 

They  were  given  with  great  and  moving  hearti 
ness;  then  somebody  proposed  that  Richards  be 
elected  sole  guardian  and  Symbol  of  the  now  Sacred 
Hadleyburg  Tradition,  with  power  and  right  to  stand 
up  and  look  the  whole  sarcastic  world  in  the  face. 

Passed,  by  acclamation;  then  they  sang  the 
11  Mikado  "  again,  and  ended  it  with, 

"  And  there's  one  Symbol  left,  you  bet !  " 

There  was  a  pause ;   then  — 

A  Voice.  *'  Now,  then,  who's  to  get  the  sack?  " 
The  Tanner  (with  bitter  sarcasm}.  '  That's  easy. 
The  money  has  to  be  divided  among  the  eighteen 
Incorruptibles.  They  gave  the  suffering  stranger 
twenty  dollars  apiece  —  and  that  remark  —  each  in 
his  turn  —  it  took  twenty-two  minutes  for  the  pro 
cession  to  move  past.  Staked  the  stranger  —  total 
contribution,  $360.  All  they  want  is  just  the  loan 
back  —  and  interest  —  forty  thousand  dollars  alto- 
gether." 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  65 

Many  Voices  \  derisively.^  *  That's  it !  Divvy  ! 
divvy!  Be  kind  to  the  poor  —  don't  keep  them 
waiting!  " 

The  Chair.  "  Order!  I  now  offer  the  stranger's 
remaining  document.  It  says :  *  If  no  claimant 
shall  appear  [grand  cJwt  us  of  groans^,  I  desire  that 
you  open  the  sack  and  count  out  the  money  to  the 
principal  citizens  of  your  town,  they  to  take  it  in 
trust  [cnes  of"  Ok!  Ok  !  <?///"],  and  use  it  in  such 
ways  as  to  them  shall  seem  best  for  the  propagation 
and  preservation  of  your  community's  noble  reputa 
tion  for  incorruptible  honesty  \jnore  cries']  —  a  repu 
tation  to  which  their  names  and  their  efforts  will  add 
a  new  and  far-reaching  lustre.'  \Enthusiastic  out 
burst  of  sarcastic  applause. ~\  That  seems  to  be  all. 
No  —  here  is  a  postscript : 

"  '  P.  S. —  CITIZENS  OF  HADLEYBURG:  There  is 
no  test- remark  —  nobody  made  one.  \_Great  sen 
sation^  There  wasn't  any  pauper  stranger,  nor  any 
twenty-dollar  contribution,  nor  any  accompanying 
benediction  and  compliment  —  these  are  all  inven 
tions.  \_General  buzz  and  hum  of  astonishment  and 
delight, .]  Allow  me  to  tell  my  story  —  it  will  take 
but  a  word  or  two.  I  passed  through  your  town  at 
a  certain  time,  and  received  a  deep  offense  which  I 
had  not  earned.  Any  other  man  would  have  been 
content  to  kill  one  or  two  of  you  and  call  it  square, 
but  to  me  that  would  have  been  a  trivial  revenge, 
and  inadequate;  for  the  dead  do  not  suffer.  Be 
sides,  I  could  not  kill  you  all  —  and,  anyway,  made 


n: 
// 


66  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

as  I  am,  even  that  would  not  have  satisfied  me.  I 
wanted  to  damage  every  man  in  the  place,  and  every 
woman  —  and  not  in  their  bodies  or  in  their  estate, 
but  in  their  vanity  —  the  place  where  feeble  and 
flbolish  people  are  most  vulnerable.  TSo  I  disguised 
myself  and  came  back  and  studied  you.  You  were 
£asy  game.  You  had  an  old  and  lofty  reputation 
for  honesty,  and  naturally  you  were  proud  of  it  — 
'it  was  your  treasure  of  treasures,  the  very  apple  of 
your  eye.  As  soon  as  I  found  out  that  you  care 
fully  and  vigilantly  kept  yourselves  and  your  children 
out  of  temptation,  I  knew  how  to  proceed.  Why, 
you  simple  creatures,  **»*>  v^oi^  of  ?i]  w^afc  thirjr0 
is  ajvirtue  which  has  not  hecr)  test-eH  jn  th^r  fire  I 
laid  a  plan,  and  gathered  a  list  of  names.  My  pro 
ject  was  to  corrupt  Hadleyburg  the  Incorruptible. 
My  idea  was  to  make  liars  and  thieves  of  nearly 
half  a  hundred  smirchless  men  and  women  who  had 
never  in  their  lives  uttered  a  lie  or  stolen  a  penny. 
I  was  afraid  of  Goodson.  He  was  neither  born  nor 
reared  in  Hadleyburg.  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  started 
to  operate  my  scheme  by  getting  my  letter  laid  be 
fore  you,  you  would  say  to  yourselves,  "  Goodson 
is  the  only  man  among  us  who  would  give  away 
twenty  dollars  to  a  poor  devil  '  '  —  and  then  you 
might  not  bite  at  my  bait.  But  Heaven  took  Good- 
son;  then  I  knew  I  was  safe,  and  I  set  my  trap  and 
baited  it.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  catch  all  the 
men  to  whom  I  mailed  the  pretended  test  secret,  but 
I  shall  catch  the  most  of  them,  if  I  know  Hadley- 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  67 

burg  nature.  [  Voices.  "  Right  —  he  got  every  last 
one  of  them."]  I  believe  they  will  even  steal  osten- 
sible  gamble-money,  rather  than  miss,  poor,  tempted, 
and  mistrained  fellows.  I  am  hoping  to  eternally 
and  everlastingly  squelch  your  vanity  and  give  Had 
leyburg  a  new  renown  —  one  that  will  stick  —  and 
spread  far.  If  I  have  succeeded,  open  the  sack  and 
summon  the  Committee  on  Propagation  and  Preser 
vation  of  the  Hadleyburg  Reputation.'  ' 

A  Cyclone  of  Voices.  ' '  Open  it !  Open  it !  The 
Eighteen  to  the  front !  Committee  on  Propagation 
of  the  Tradition  !  Forward  —  the  Incorruptibles  !  " 

The  Chair  ripped  the  sack  wide,  and  gathered  up 
a  handful  of  bright,  broad,  yellow  coins,  shook  them 
together,  then  examined  them  — 

"  Friends,  they  are  only  gilcled  disks  of  .lead  !  " 

There  was  a  crashing  outbreak  of  delight  over  this 
news,  and  when  the  noise  had  subsided,  the  tanner 
called  out: 

"  By  right  of  apparent  seniority  in  this  business, 
Mr.  Wilson  is  Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Prop 
agation  of  the  Tradition.  I  suggest  that  he  step  for 
ward  on  behalf  of  his  pals,  and  receive  in  trust  the 
money." 

A  Hundred  Voices.  "  Wilson  !  Wilson  !  Wilson  ! 
Speech!  Speech!" 

Wilson  [in  a  voice  trembling  with  anger."]  "  You 
will  allow  me  to  say,  and  without  apologies  for  my 
language,  damn  the  money!  " 

A  Voice.     "  Oh,  and  him  a  Baptist!  "' 


68  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

A  Voice.  "Seventeen  Symbols  left!  Step  up, 
gentlemen,  and  assume  your  trust!  " 

There  was  a  pause  —  no  response. 

The  Saddler.  "Mr.  Chairman,  we've  got  one 
clean  man  left,  anyway,  out  of  the  late  aristocracy ; 
and  he  needs  money,  and  deserves  it.  I  move  that 
you  appoint  Jack  Halliday  to  get  up  there  and 
auction  off  that  sack  of  gilt  twenty-dollar  pieces,  and 
give  the  result  to  the  right  man  —  the  man  whom 
Hadleyburg  delights  to  honor— Edward  Richards." 

This  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm,  the  dog 
taking  a  hand  again ;  the  saddler  started  the  bids  at 
a  dollar,  the  Brixton  folk  and  Barnum's  representa 
tive  fought  hard  for  it,  the  people  cheered  every 
jump  that  the  bids  made,  the  excitement  climbed 
moment  by  moment  higher  and  higher,  the  bidders 
got  on  their  mettle  and  grew  steadily  more  and  more 
daring,  more  and  more  determined,  the  jumps  went 
from  a  dollar  up  to  five,  then  to  ten,  then  to  twenty, 
then  fifty,  then  to  a  hundred,  then  — 

At  the  beginning  of  the  auction  Richards  whis 
pered  in  distress  to  his  wife:  "O  Mary,  can  we 
allow  it?  It  —  it  —  you  see,  it  is  an  honor-reward,  a 
testimonial  to  purity  of  character,  and  —  and  —  can 
we  allow  it?  Hadn't  I  better  get  up  and  —  O 
Mary,  what  ought  we  to  do  ?  —  what  do  you  think 
we —  \Halliday*  s  voice.  "Fifteen  I'm  bid ! — fif 
teen  for  the  sack  !  —  twenty  !  —  ah,  thanks  !  —  thirty 
—  thanks  again  !  Thirty,  thirty,  thirty  !  —  do  I  hear 
forty  ? — forty  it  is  !  Keep  the  ball  rolling,  gentle- 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  69 

men,  keep  it  rolling ! — fifty  !  —  thanks,  noble  Roman! 
going  at  fifty,  fifty,  fifty  !  —  seventy  !  —  ninety  !  — 
splendid! — a  hundred! — pile  it  up,  pile  it  up!  — 
hundred  and  tiventy  — forty  !  — just  in  time  !  —  hun 
dred  and  fifty  !  —  TWO  hundred  !  —  superb  !  Do  1 
hear  two  h —  thanks  !  —  two  hundred  and  fifty  !  —  "] 
"  It  is  another  temptation,  Edward  —  I'm  all  in  a 
tremble  —  but,  oh,  we've  -escaped  one  temptation, 
and  that  ought  to  warn  us  to  -  ["  Six  did  I  hear  ? 

—  thanks  !  —  six  fifty,  six  f —  SEVEN    hundred  /  "] 
And  yet,  Edward,  when  you  think  —  nobody  susp — 
^  Eight  hundred  dollars  !  —  hurrah  !  —  make  it  nine  ! 

—  Mr.  Parsons,  did  I  hear  you  say  —  thanks —  nine  / 

—  this  noble  sack  of  virgin  lead  going  at  only  nine 
hundred  dollars,  gilding  and  all — come!  do  I  hear — 
a  thousand  !  — gratefully  yours  !  —  did  some  one  say 
eleven? — a  sack  which  is  going  to  be  the  most  cele 
brated  in  the  whole  Uni—"~\     O  Edward"   (begin 
ning  to  sob) ,  '  *  we  are  so  poor  !  —  but  —  but  —  do  as 
you  think  best  —  do  as  you  think  best." 

Edward  fell  —  that  is,  he  sat  still;  sat  with  a  con 
science  which  was  not  satisfied,  but  which  was  over 
powered  by  circumstances. 

Meantime  a  stranger,  who  looked  like  an  amateur 
detective  gotten  up  as  an  impossible  English  earl, 
had  been  watching  the  evening's  proceedings  with 
manifest  interest,  and  with  a  contented  expression 
in  his  face ;  and  he  had  been  privately  commenting 
to  himself.  He  was  now  soliloquizing  somewhat 
Uke  this:  "None  of  the  Eighteen  are  bidding; 


70  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

that  is  not  satisfactory;  I  must  change  that  —  the 
dramatic  unities  require  it;  they  must  buy  the  sack 
they  tried  to  steal;  they  must  pay  a  heavy  price, 
too  —  some  of  them  are  rich.  And  another  thing, 
when  I  make  a  mistake  in  Hadleyburg  nature  the 
man  that  puts  that  error  upon  me  is  entitled  to  a 
high  honorarium,  and  some  one  must  pay  it.  This 
poor  old  Richards  has  brought  my  judgment  to 
shame;  he  is  an  honest  man:  — I  don't  understand 
it,  but  I  acknowledge  it.  Yes,  he  saw  my  deuces 
and  with  a  straight  flush,  and  by  rights  the  pot  is  his. 
And  it  shall  be  a  jack-pot,  too,  if  I  can  manage  it. 
He  disappointed  me,  but  let  that  pass." 

He  was  watching  the  bidding.  At  a  thousand, 
the  market  broke ;  the  prices  tumbled  swiftly.  He 
waited  —  and  still  watched.  One  competitor  dropped 
out;  then  another,  and  another.  He  put  in  a  bid 
or  two,  now.  When  the  bids  had  sunk  to  ten  dol 
lars,  he  added  a  five;  some  one  raised  him  a  three; 
he  waited  a  moment,  then  flung  in  a  fifty-dollar 
jump,  and  the  sack  was  his  —  at  $1,282.  The 
house  broke  out  in  cheers  —  then  stopped ;  for  he 
was  on  his  feet,  and  had  lifted  his  hand.  He  began 
to  speak. 

"  I  desire  to  say  a  word,  and  ask  a  favor.  I  am  a 
speculator  in  rarities,  and  I  have  dealings  with  per 
sons  interested  in  numismatics  all  over  the  world.  I 
can  make  a  profit  on  this  purchase,  just  as  it  stands; 
but  there  is  a  way,  if  I  can  get  your  approval, 
whereby  I  can  make  every  one  of  these  leader 


The  Man  tiat  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  71 

twenty-dollar  pieces  worth  its  face  in  gold,  and  per 
haps  more.  Grant  Tie  that  approval,  and  I  will  give 
part  of  my  gains  to  your  Mr.  Richards,  whose  in 
vulnerable  probity  you  have  so  justly  and  so  cordially 
recognized  to-night ;  his  share  shall  be  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  I  will  hand  him  the  money  to-morrow,  i 
\_Grcat  applause  from  the  house.  But  the  "  invulner 
able  probity  ' '  made  tire  Richardses  blush  prettily ; 
however,  it  went  for  n  odesty,  and  did  no  harm.] 
If  you  will  pass  my  proposition  by  a  good  majority 
—  I  would  like  a  two-thirds  vote  —  I  will  regard  that 
as  the  town's  consent,  and  that  is  all  I  ask.  Rarities 
are  always  helped  by  any  device  which  will  rouse 
curiosity  and  compel  remark.  Now  if  I  may  have 
your  permission  to  stamp  upon  the  faces  of  each  of 
these  ostensible  coins  the  names  of  the  eighteen  gen 
tlemen  who  —  ' ' 

Nine-tenths  of  the  audience  were  on  their  feet  in 
a  moment  —  dog  and  all — -and  the  proposition  was 
carried  with  a  whirlwind  of  approving  applause  and 
laughter. 

They  sat  down,  and  all  the  Symbols  except  "  Dr." 
Clay  Harkness  got  up,  violently  protesting  against 
the  proposed  outrage,  and  threatening  to  — 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  threaten  me,"  said  the  stranger, 
calmly.  "  I  know  my  legal  rights,  and  am  not  ac 
customed  to  being  frightened  at  bluster. ' '  \_Applausc.~\ 
He  sat  down.  "  Dr."  Harkness  saw  an  opportunity 
here.  He  was  one  of  the  two  very  rich  men  of  the 
place,  and  Pinkerton  was  the  other.  Harkness  was 


72  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

proprietor  of  a  mint;  that  is  to  say,  a  popular  patent 
medicine.  He  was  running  for  the  Legislature  on 
one  ticket,  and  Pinkerton  on  tie  other.  It  was  a 
close  race  and  a  hot  one,  and  getting  hotter  every 
day.  Both  had  strong  appetites  for  money;  each 
had  bought  a  great  tract  of  Ir.nd,  with  a  purpose; 
there  was  going  to  be  a  ne  w  railway,  and  each 
wanted  to  be  in  the  Legislature  and  help  locate  the 
route  to  his  own  advantag  3 ;  a  single  vote  might 
make  the  decision,  and  with  it  two  or  three  fortunes. 
The  stake  was  large,  and  Harkness  was  a  daring 
speculator.  He  was  sitting  close  to  the  stranger. 
He  leaned  over  while  one  or  another  of  the  other 
Symbols  was  entertaining  the  house  with  protests 
and  appeals,  and  asked,  in  a  whisper, 

"  What  is  your  price  for  the  sack?  " 

"  Forty  thousand  dollars." 

"  I'll  give  you  twenty." 

"No." 

"Twenty-five." 

"No." 

"Say  thirty." 

'  *  The  price  is  forty  thousand  dollars ;  not  a  penny 
less." 

"  All  right,  I'll  give  it.  I  will  come  to  the  hotel 
at  ten  in  the  morning.  I  don't  want  it  known;  will 
see  you  privately." 

'Very  good."     Then  the   stranger  got  up  and 
said  to  the  house : 

"  I  find  it  late.     The  speeches  of  these  gentlemen 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  73 

are  not  without  merit,  not  without  interest,  not  with 
out  grace ;  yet  if  I  may  be  excused  I  will  take  my 
leave.  I  thank  you  for  the  great  favor  which  you 
have  shown  me  in  granting  my  petition.  I  ask  the 
Chair  to  keep  the  sack  for  me  until  to-morrow,  and 
to  hand  these  three  five-hundred-dollar  notes  to  Mr. 
Richards."  They  were  passed  up  to  the  Chair. 
"  At  nine  I  will  call  for  the  sack,  and  at  eleven  will 
deliver  the  rest  of  the  ten  thousand  to  Mr.  Richards 
in  person,  at  his  home.  Good  night." 

Then  he  slipped  out,  and  left  the  audience  making 
a  vast  noise,  which  was  composed  of  a  mixture  of 
cheers,  the  "Mikado"  ,song,  dog-disapproval,  and 
the  chant,  "  You  are  f-a-r  from  being  a  b-a-a-d  man 
—  a-a-a  a-men  !  " 

IV 

At  home  the  Richardses  had  to  endure  congratu 
lations  and  compliments  until  midnight.  Then  they 
were  left  to  themselves.  They  looked  a  little  sad, 
and  they  sat  silent  and  thinking.  Finally  Mary 
sighed  and  said, 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  to  blame,  Edward  —  much 
to  blame  ?  ' '  and  her  eyes  wandered  to  the  accusing 
triplet  of  big  bank  notes  lying  on  the  table,  where 
the  congratulators  had  been  gloating  over  them  and 
reverently  fingering  them.  Edward  did  not  answer 
at  once;  then  he  brought  out  a  sigh  and  said, 
hesitatingly : 

"We —  we  couldn't  help  it,  Mary.  It  —  well,  it 
was  ordered.  All  things  are." 


74  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

Mary  glanced  up  and  looked  at  him  steadily,  but 
he  didn't  return  the  look.  Presently  she  said: 

"I  thought  congratulations  and  praises  always 
tasted  good.  But  —  it  seems  to  me,  now  — 
Edward?" 

44  Well?" 

44  Are  you  going  to  stay  in  the  bank?  M 

"N-no." 

"Resign?" 

44  In  the  morning  —  by  note." 

44  It  does  seem  best." 

Richards  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and 
muttered : 

4 'Before,  I  was  not  afraid  to  let  oceans  of  peo 
ple's  money  pour  through  my  hands,  but  —  Mary, 
I  am  so  tired,  so  tired  —  " 

44  We  will  go  to  bed." 

At  nine  in  the  morning  the  stranger  called  for  the 
sack  and  took  it  to  the  hotel  in  a  cab.  At  ten  Hark- 
ness  had  a  talk  with  him  privately.  The  stranger 
asked  for  and  got  five  checks  on  a  metropolitan  bank 
—  drawn  to  44  Bearer,"  —four  for  $1,500  each,  and 
one  for  $34,000.  He  put  one  of  the  former  in  his 
pocketbook,  and  the  remainder,  representing  $38,- 
500,  he  put  in  an  envelope,  and  with  these  he  added 
a  note,  which  he  wrote  after  Harkness  was  gone. 
At  eleven  he  called  at  the  Richards  house  and 
knocked.  Mrs.  Richards  peeped  through  the  shut 
ters,  then  went  and  received  the  envelope,  and  the 
stranger  disappeared  without  a  word.  She  came 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  75 

back  flushed  and  a  little  unsteady  on  her  legs,  and 
gasped  out: 

"I  am  sure  I  recognized  him!  Last  night  it 
seemed  to  me  that  maybe  I  had  seen  him  some 
where  before." 

"  He  is  the  man  that  brought  the  sack  here?  " 

"  I  am  almost  sure  of  it." 

'Then  he  is  the  ostensible  Stephcnson,  too,  and 
sold  every  important  citizen  in  this  town  with  his 
bogus  secret.  Now  if  he  has  sent  checks  instead  of 
money,  we  are  sold,  too,  after  we  thought  we  had 
escaped.  I  was  beginning  to  feel  fairly  comfortable 
once  more,  after  my  night's  rest,  but  the  look  of! 
that  envelope  makes  me  sick.  It  isn't  fat  enough ; 
$8,500  in  even  the  largest  bank  notes  makes  more 
bulk  than  that." 

"  Edward,  why  do  you  object  to  checks?  " 

"Checks  signed  by  Stcphenson !  I  am  resigned 
to  take  the  $8,500  if  it  could  come  in  bank 
notes  —  for  it  does  seem  that  it  was  so  ordered, 
Mary — but  I  have  never  had  much  courage,  and  I 
have  not  the  pluck  to  try  to  market  a  check  signed 
with  that  disastrous  name.  It  would  be  a  trap. 
That  man  tried  to  catch  me ;  we  escaped  somehow 
or  other ;  and  now  he  is  trying  a  new  way.  If  it  is; 
checks—" 

"  Oh,  Edward,  it  is  too  bad!  "   and  she  held  upj 
the  checks  and  began  to  cry. 

"Put  them  in  the  fire!  quick!  we  mustn't  be 
tempted.  It  is  a  trick  to  make  the  world  laugh  at 


76  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

«j,  along  with  the  rest,  and —  Give  them  to  me> 
since  you  can't  do  it!"  He  snatched  them  and 
tried  to  hold  his  grip  till  he  could  get  to  the  stove ; 
but  he  was  human,  he  was  a  cashier,  and  he  stopped 
a  moment  to  make  sure  of  the  signature.  Then  he 
came  near  to  fainting. 

"  Fan  me,  Mary,  fan  me !  They  are  the  same  as 
gold!" 

"  Oh,  how  lovely,  Edward  !     Why?  " 

'*  Signed  by  Harkness.  What  can  the  mystery  of 
that  be,  Mary?" 

11  Edward,  do  you  think —  " 

1 '  Look  here  —  look  at  this  !  Fifteen  —  fifteen  — 
fifteen  —  thirty-four.  Thirty-eight  thousand  five 
hundred!  Mary,  the  sack  isn't  worth  twelve  dol 
lars,  and  Harkness  —  apparently  —  has  paid  about 
par  for  it." 

1"  And  does  it  all  come  to  us,  do  you  think  —  in- 
ead  of  the  ten  thousand?  " 

|  "  Why,  it  looks  like  it.     And  the  checks  are  made 
to  'Bearer/  too." 

"  Is  that  good,  Edward?     What  is  it  for?  " 
"A  hint  to  collect  them  at  some  distant  bank,  I 
reckon.     Perhaps  Harkness  doesn't  want  the  matter 
known.     What  is  that  —  a  note?  " 
"  Yes.     It  was  with  the  checks." 
It  was   in  the   "  Stephenson "    handwriting,    but 
there  was  no  signature.      It  said  : 

"  I  am  a  disappointed  man.  Your  honesty  is  beyond  the  reach  oj 
temptation.  I  had  a  different  idea  about  it,  but  I  wronged  you  in  that, 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  77 

and  I  beg  pardon,  and  do  it  sincerely.     I  honor  you  —  and  thai  is  1 
sincere  too.      This  town  is  not  worthy  to  kiss  the  hem  of  your  garment. 
Dear  sir,  I  made  a  square  bet  "with  myself  that  there  were  nineteen  ' 
debauchable  men  in  your  self-r^ghteo^ts  community.   I  have  lost.    Take 
the  whole  pot,  you  are  entitled  to  it. " 

Richards  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  said: 

14  It  seems  written  with  fire  —  it  burns  so.     Mary 

—  I  am  miserable  again." 

41  I,  too.     Ah,  dear,  I  wish —  " 

44  To  think,  Mary  —  he  believes  in  me." 

44  Oh,  don't,  Edward  —  I  can't  bear  it." 

44  If   those  beautiful  words  were  deserved,   Mary 

—  and  God  knows  I  believed  I  deserved  them  once 

—  I  think  I  could  give  the  forty  thousand  dollars  for 
them.     And  I  would  put  that  paper  away,  as  repre 
senting    more    than    gold    and    jewels,   and   keep    it 
always.      But    now —     We    could    not    live    in    the 
shadow  of  its  accusing  presence,  Mary." 

He  put  it  in  the  fire. 

A  messenger  arrived  and  delivered  an  envelope. 
Richards  took  from  it  a  note  and  read  it ;   it  was 
from  Burgess. 

"  You  saved  me,  in  a  difficult  time.  I  saved  you  last  night.  It 
was  at  cost  of  a  lie,  but  I  made  the  sacrifice  freely,  and  out  of  a  grate 
ful  heart.  None  in  this  village  knows  so  well  as  I  know  how  brave 
and  good  and  noble  you  are.  At  bottom  you  cannot  respect  me,  know 
ing  as  y 'ou  do  of  that  matter  of  which  I  am  accused,  and  by  the  general 
voice  condemned ;  but  I  beg  that  you  will  at  least  believe  that  I  am  a 
grateful  man  ;  it  will  help  me  to  bear  my  burden. 

[Signed}  "  BURGESS." 

44  Saved,  once  more.     And  on  such  terms  !  "     He 


78  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

put  the  note  in  the  fire.  "I  —  I  wish  I  were  dead, 
Mary,  I  wish  I  were  out  of  it  all." 

"  Oh,  these  are  bitter,  bitter  days,  Edward.  The 
stabs,  through  their  very  generosity,  are  so  deep  — 
and  they  come  so  fast  !" 

Three  days  before  the  election  each  of  two  thou 
sand  voters  suddenly  found  himself  in  possession  of 
a  prized  memento  —  one  of  the  renowned  bogus 
double-eagles.  Around  one  of  its  faces  was  stamped 
these  words:  "THE  REMARK  I  MADE  TO  THE  POOR 

STRANGER  WAS — "  Around  the  other  face  was 
stamped  these:  "GO,  AND  REFORM.  [SIGNED] 
PINKERTON."  Thus  the  entire  remaining  refuse  of 
the  renowned  joke  was  emptied  upon  a  single  head, 
and  with  calamitous  effect.  It  revived  the  recent 
vast  laugh  and  concentrated  it  upon  Pinkerton ;  and 
Harkness's  election  was  a  walkover. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  after  the  Richardses  had 
received  their  checks  their  consciences  were  quieting 
down,  discouraged ;  the  old  couple  were  learning  to 
\  reconcile  themselves  to  the  sin  which  they  had  com 
mitted.  But  they  were  to  learn,  now,  that  a  sin 
takes  on  new  and  real  terrors  when  there  seems  a 
chance  that  it  is  going  to  be  found  out.  This  gives 
it  a  fresh  and  most  substantial  and  important  aspect. 
At  church  the  morning  sermon  was  of  the  usual 
pattern ;  it  was  the  same  old  things  said  in  the  same 
old  way ;  they  had  heard  them  a  thousand  times  and 
found  them  innocuous,  next  to  meaningless,  and 
easy  to  sleep  under ;  but  now  it  was  different :  the 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  79 

sermon  seemed  to  bristle  with  accusations ;  it  seemed 
aimed  straight  and  specially  at  people  who  were  con 
cealing  deadly  sins.  After  church  they  got  away 
from  the  mob  of  congratulators  as  soon  as  they 
could,  and  hurried  homeward,  chilled  to  the  bone  at 
they  did  not  know  what  —  vague,  shadowy,  indefi 
nite  fears.  And  by  chance  they  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Mr.  Burgess  as  he  turned  a  corner.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  their  nod  of  recognition !  He  hadn't 
seen  it ;  but  they  did  not  know  that.  What  could 
his  conduct  mean?  It  might  mean  —  it  might  mean 
—  oh,  a  dozen  dreadful  things.  Was  it  possible  that 

he  knew  that  Richards  could  have  cleared  him   of 

» 

guilt  in  that  bygone  time,  and  had  been  silently 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  even  up  accounts?  At 
home,  in  their  distress  they  got  to  imagining  that 
their  servant  might  have  been  in  the  next  room 
listening  when  Richards  revealed  the  secret  to  his 
wife  that  he  knew  of  Burgess's  innocence;  next, 
Richards  began  to  imagine  that  he  had  heard  the 
swish  of  a  gown  in  there  at  that  time ;  next,  he  was 
sure  he  had  heard  it.  They  would  call  Sarah  in,  on 
a  pretext,  and  watch  her  face :  if  she  had  been  be 
traying  them  to  Mr.  Burgess,  it  would  show  in  her 
manner.  They  asked  her  some  questions  —  ques 
tions  which  were  so  random  and  incoherent  and 
seemingly  purposeless  that  the  girl  felt  sure  that  the 
old  people's  minds  had  been  affected  by  their  sudden 
good  fortune;  the  sharp  and  watchful  gaze  which 
they  bent  upon  her  frightened  her,  and  that  com- 


80  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 

pleted  the  business.  She  blushed,  she  became 
nervous  and  confused,  and  to  the  old  people  these 
were  plain  signs  of  guilt  —  guilt  of  some  fearful  sort 
or  other  —  without  doubt  she  was  a  spy  and  a  traitor. 
When  they  were  alone  again  they  began  to  piece 
many  unrelated  things  together  and  get  horrible  re 
sults  out  of  the  combination.  When  things  had  got 
about  to  the  worst,  Richards  was  delivered  of  a  sud 
den  gasp,  and  his  wife  asked, 

"  Oh,  what  is  it?  —  what  is  it?" 

"The  note  —  Burgess's  note!  Its  language  was 
sarcastic,  I  see  it  now."  He  quoted:  '  'At  bot 
tom  you  cannot  respect  me,  knoiving,  as  you  do,  of 
that  matter  of  which  I  am  accused  '  —  oh,  it  is  per 
fectly  plain,  now,  God  help  me  !  He  knows  that  I 
know  !  You  see  the  ingenuity  of  the  phrasing.  It 
was  a  trap  —  and  like  a  fool,  I  walked  into  it.  And 
Mary—?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  dreadful  —  I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  say  —  he  didn't  return  your  transcript  of  the  pre 
tended  test-remark." 

"  No  —  kept  it  to  destroy  us  with.  Mary,  he  has 
exposed  us  to  some  already.  I  know  it  —  I  know  it 
well.  I  saw  it  in  a  dozen  faces  after  church.  Ah, 
he  wouldn't  answer  our  nod  of  recognition  —  he 
iknew  what  he  had  been  doing !  ' ' 

In  the  night  the  doctor  was  called.  The  news 
went  around  in  the  morning  that  the  old  couple  were 
rather  seriously  ill  —  prostrated  by  the  exhausting 
excitement  growing  out  of  their  great  windfall,  the 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  81 

congratulations,  and  the  late  hours,  the  doctor  said. 
The  town  was  sincerely  distressed ;  for  these  old 
people  were  about  all  it  had  left  to  be  proud  of, 
now. 

Two  days  later  the  news  was  worse.  The  old 
couple  were  delirious,  and  were  doing  strange  things. 
By  witness  of  the  nurses,  Richards  had  exhibited 
checks —  for  $8,500?  No  —  for  an  amazing  sum 
-  $38,500  !  What  could  be  the  explanation  of  this 
gigantic  piece  of  luck? 

The  following  day  the  nurses  had  more  news  — 
and  wonderful.  They  had  concluded  to  hide  the 
checks,  lest  harm  come  to  them ;  but  when  they 
searched  they  were  gone  from  under  the  patient's 
pillow  —  vanished  away.  The  patient  said : 

14  Let  the  pillow  alone ;  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  We  thought  it  best  that  the  checks —  " 
'  You  will  never  see  them  again  —  they  are  de 
stroyed.  They  came  from  Satan.  I  saw  the  hell- 
brand  on  them,  and  I  knew  they  were  sent  to  betray 
me  to  sin."  Then  he  fell  to  gabbling  strange  and 
dreadful  things  which  were  not  clearly  understand 
able,  and  which  the  doctor  admonished  them  to  keep 
to  themselves. 

Richards  was  right;  the  checks  were  never  seen 
again. 

A  nurse  must  have  talked  in  her  sleep,  for  within 
two  days  the  forbidden  gabblings  were  the  property 
of  the  town ;  and  they  were  of  a  surprising  sort. 
They  seemed  to  indicate  that  Richards  had  been  a 


82  The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg 


c 


laimant  for  the  sack  himself,  and  that  Burgess  had 
concealed  that  fact  and  then  maliciously  betrayed  it. 

Burgess  was  taxed  with  this  and  stoutly  denied  it. 
And  he  said  it  was  not  fair  to  attach  weight  to  the 
chatter  of  a  sick  old  man  who  was  out  of  his  mind. 
Still,  suspicion  was  in  the  air,  and  there  was  much 
talk. 

After  a  day  or  two  it  was  reported  that  Mrs. 
Richards's  delirious  deliveries  were  getting  to  be 
duplicates  of  her  husband's.  Suspicion  flamed  up 
into  conviction,  now,  and  the  town's  pride  in  the 
purity  of  its  one  undiscredited  important  citizen  be 
gan  to  dim  down  and  flicker  toward  extinction. 

Six  days  passed,  then  came  more  news.  The  old 
couple  were  dying.  Richards's  mind  cleared  in  his 
latest  hour,  and  he  sent  for  Burgess.  Burgess  said: 

"  Let  the  room  be  cleared.  I  think  he  wishes  to 
say  something  in  privacy." 

"No!"  said  Richards:  "I  want  witnesses.  I 
want  you  all  to  hear  my  confession,  so  that  I  may 
die  a  man,  and  not  a  dog.  I  was  clean  —  artificially 
—  like  the  rest ;  and  like  the  rest  I  fell  when  tempta 
tion  came.  I  signed  a  lie,  and  claimed  the  miserable 
sack.  Mr.  Burgess  remembered  that  I  had  done 
him  a  service,  and  in  gratitude  (and  ignorance)  he 
suppressed  my  claim  and  saved  me.  You  know  the 
thin^  that  was  charged  against  Burgess  years  ago. 
My  testimony,  and  mine  alone,  could  have  cleared 
him,  and  I  was  a  coward,  and  left  him  to  suffer 
disgrace  — - ' ' 


The  Man  that  Corrupted  Hadleyburg  83 

"  No —  no  —  Mr.  Richards,  you  —  " 

44  My  servant  betrayed  my  secret  to  him —  M 

"  No  one  has  betrayed  anything  to  me —  " 
—  *'  and  then  he  did  a  natural  and  justifiable  thing, 
he  repented  of    the  saving    kindness  which  he  had 
done  me,  and  he  exposed  me  —  as  I  deserved —  " 

"  Never  I  —  I  make  oath  —  " 

"  Out  of  my  heart  I  forgive  him." 

Burgess's  impassioned  protestations  fell  upon  deaf 
ears;  the  dying  man  passed  away  without  knowing 
that  once  more  he  had  done  poor  Burgess  a  wrong. 
The  old  wife  died  that  night. 

The  last  of  the  sacred  Nineteen  had  fallen  a  prey 
to  the  fiendish  sack;  the  town  was  stripped  of  the 
last  rag  of  its  ancient  glory.  Its  mourning  was  not 
showy,  but  it  was  deep. 

By  act  of  the  Legislature  • —  upon  prayer  and  peti 
tion  —  Hadleyburg  was  allowed  to  change  its  name 
to  (never  mind  what — I  will  not  give  it  away),  and 
leave  one  word  out  of  the  motto  that  for  many  gen 
erations  had  graced  the  town's  official  seal. 

It  is  an  honest  town  once  more,  and  the  man  will' 
have  to  rise  early  that  catches  it  napping  again. 


pFORMERMOTTcSj 


MY  DEBUT  AS  A  LITERARY  PERSON 

IN  those  early  days  I  had  already  published  one 
little  thing  ("  The  Jumping  Frog")  in  an  East 
ern  paper,  but  I  did  not  consider  that  that  counted. 
In  my  view,  a  person  who  published  things  in  a 
mere  newspaper  could  not  properly  claim  recog 
nition  as  a  Literary  Person :  he  must  rise  away 
above  that;  he  must  appear  in  a  magazine.  He 
would  then  be  a  Literary  Person;  also,  he  would  be 
famous  —  right  away.  These  two  ambitions  were 
strong  upon  me.  This  was  in  1866.  I  prepared 
my  contribution,  and  then  looked  around  for  the 
best  magazine  to  go  up  to  glory  in.  I  selected  the 
most  important  one  in  New  York.  The  contribu 
tion  was  accepted.  I  signed  it  "  MARK  TWAIN"; 
for  that  name  had  some  currency  on  the  Pacific 
coast,  and  it  was  my  idea  to  spread  it  all  over  the 
world,  now,  at  this  one  jump.  The  article  appeared 
in  the  December  number,  and  I  sat  up  a  month 
waiting  for  the  January  number ;  for  that  one  would 
contain  the  year's  list  of  contributors,  my  name 
would  be  in  it,  and  I  should  be  famous  and  could 
give  the  banquet  I  was  meditating. 

(84) 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  85 

I  did  not  give  the  banquet.  I  had  not  written  the 
"  MARK  TWAIN  "  distinctly;  it  was  a  fresh  name  to 
Eastern  printers,  and  they  put  it  "  Mike  Swain  "  or 
11  MacSwain,"  I  do  not  remember  which.  At  any 
rate,  I  was  not  celebrated,  and  I  did  not  give  the 
banquet.  I  was  a  Literary  Person,  but  that  was  all 
—  a  buried  one ;  buried  alive. 

My  article  was  about  the  burning  of  the  clipper- 
ship  Hornet  on  the  line,  May  3,  1866.  There  were 
thirty-one  men  on  board  at  the  time,  and  I  was  in 
Honolulu  when  the  fifteen  lean  and  ghostly  sur 
vivors  arrived  there  after  a  voyage  of  forty-three 
days  in  an  open  boat,  through  the  blazing  tropics, 
on  ten  days'  rations  of  food.  A  very  remarkable 
trip ;  but  it  was  conducted  by  a  captain  who  was  a 
remarkable  man,  otherwise  there  would  have  been 
no  survivors.  He  was  a  New-Englander  of  the  best 
sea-going  stock  of  the  old  capable  times — Captain 
Josiah  Mitchell. 

I  was  in  the  islands  to  write  letters  for  the  weekly 
edition  of  the  Sacramento  Union,  a  rich  and  in 
fluential  daily  journal  which  hadn't  any  use  for 
them,  but  could  afford  to  spend  twenty  dollars  a 
week  for  nothing.  The  proprietors  were  lovable 
and  well-beloved  men:  long  ago  dead,  no  doubt, 
but  in  me  there  is  at  least  one  person  who  still  holds 
them  in  grateful  remembrance ;  for  I  dearly  wanted 
to  see  the  islands,  and  they  listened  to  me  and  gave 
me  the  opportunity  when  there  was  but  slender 
likelihood  that  it  could  profit  them  in  any  way. 


86  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

I  had  been  in  the  islands  several  months  when  the 
survivors  arrived.  I  was  laid  up  in  my  room  at  the 
time,  and  unable  to  walk.  Here  was  a  great  occa 
sion  to  serve  my  journal,  and  I  not  able  to  take 
advantage  of  it.  Necessarily  I  was  in  deep  trouble. 
But  by  good  luck  his  Excellency  Anson  Burlingame 
was  there  at  the  time,  on  his  way  to  take  up  his  post 
in  China,  where  he  did  such  good  work  for  the 
United  States.  He  came  and  put  me  on  a  stretcher 
and  had  me  carried  to  the  hospital  where  the  ship 
wrecked  men  were,  and  I  never  needed  to  ask  a 
question.  He  attended  to  all  of  that  himself,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  do  but  make  the  notes.  It  was  like 
him  to  take  that  trouble.  He  was  a  great  man  and 
a  great  American,  and  it  was  in  his  fine  nature  to 
come  down  from  his  high  office  and  do  a  friendly 
turn  whenever  he  could. 

We  got  through  with  this  work  at  six  in  the  even 
ing.  I  took  no  dinner,  for  there  was  no  time  to 
spare  if  I  would  beat  the  other  correspondents.  I 
spent  four  hours  arranging  the  notes  in  their  proper 
order,  then  wrote  all  night  and  beyond  it ;  with  this 
result :  that  I  had  a  very  long  and  detailed  account 
of  the  Hornet  episode  ready  at  nine  in  the  morning, 
while  the  correspondents  of  the  San  Francisco 
journals  had  nothing  but  a  brief  outline  report  —  for 
they  did  n't  sit  up.  The  now-and-then  schooner  was 
to  sail  for  San  Francisco  about  nine ;  when  I  reached 
the  dock  she  was  free  forward  and  was  just  casting 
off  her  stern-line,  My  fat  envelope  was  thrown  by 


My  D£but  as  a  Literary  Person  87 

a  strong  hand,  and  fell  on  board  all  right,  and  my 
victory  was  a  safe  thing.  All  in  due  time  the  ship 
reached  San  Francisco,  but  it  was  my  complete  re 
port  which  made  the  stir  and  was  telegraphed  to  the 
New  York  papers,  by  Mr.  Cash;  he  was  in  charge 
of  the  Pacific  bureau  of  the  New  York  Herald  at 
the  time. 

When  I  returned  to  California  by  and  by,  I  went 
up  to  Sacramento  and  presented  a  bill  for  general 
correspondence  at  twenty  dollars  a  week.  It  was 
paid.  Then  I  presented  a  bill  for  "  special  "  service 
on  the  Hornet  matter  of  three  columns  of  solid  non 
pareil  at  a  hundred  dollars  a  column.  The  cashier 
didn't  faint,  but  he  came  rather  near  it.  He  sent 
for  the  proprietors,  and  they  came  and  never  uttered 
a  protest.  They  only  laughed  in  their  jolly  fashion, 
and  said  it  was  robbery,  but  no  matter ;  it  was  a 
grand  "scoop"  (the  bill  or  my  Hornet  report,  I 
didn't  know  which);  "pay  it.  It's  all  right." 
The  best  men  that  ever  owned  a  newspaper. 

The  Hornet  survivors  reached  the  Sandwich 
Islands  the  I5th  of  June.  They  were  mere  skinny 
skeletons ;  their  clothes  hung  limp  about  them  and 
fitted  them  no  better  than  a  flag  fits  the  flagstaff  in 
a  calm.  But  they  were  well  nursed  in  the  hospital ; 
the  people  of  Honolulu  kept  them  supplied  with  all 
the  dainties  they  could  need ;  they  gathered  strength 
fast,  and  were  presently  nearly  as  good  as  new. 
Within  a  fortnight  the  most  of  them  took  ship  for 
San  Francisco;  that  is,  if  my  dates  have  not  gone 


88  My  D£but  as  a  Literary  Person 

astray  in  my  memory.  I  went  in  the  same  ship,  a 
sailing-vessel.  Captain  Mitchell  of  the  Hornet  was 
along;  also  the  only  passengers  the  Hornet  had 
carried.  These  were  two  young  gentlemen  from 
Stamford,  Connecticut  —  brothers:  Samuel  Fergu 
son,  aged  twenty-eight,  a  graduate  of  Trinity  Col 
lege,  Hartford,  and  Henry  Ferguson,  aged  eighteen, 
a  student  of  the  same  college.  The  elder  brother 
had  had  some  trouble  with  his  lungs,  which  induced 
his  physician  to  prescribe  a  long  sea- voyage.  This 
terrible  disaster,  however,  developed  the  disease 
which  later  ended  fatally.  The  younger  brother  is 
still  living,  and  is  fifty  years  old  this  year  (1898). 
The  Hornet  was  a  clipper  of  the  first  class  and 
a  fast  sailer;  the  young  men's  quarters  were  roomy 
and  comfortable,  and  were  well  stocked  with  books, 
and  also  with  canned  meats  and  fruits  to  help 
out  the  ship-fare  with ;  and  when  the  ship  cleared 
from  New  York  harbor  in  the  first  week  of  Janu 
ary,  there  was  promise  that  she  would  make  quick 
and  pleasant  work  of  the  fourteen  or  fifteen  thou 
sand  miles  in  front  of  her.  As  soon  as  the  cold 
latitudes  were  left  behind  and  the  vessel  entered 
summer  weather,  the  voyage  became  a  holiday 
picnic.  The  ship  flew  southward  under  a  cloud  of 
sail  which  needed  no  attention,  no  modifying  or 
change  of  any  kind,  for  days  together.  The  young 
men  read,  strolled  the  ample  deck,  rested  and 
drowsed  in  the  shade  of  the  canvas,  took  their  meals 
with  the  captain,  and  when  the  day  was  done  they 


My  D£but  as  a  Literary  Person  89 

played  dummy  whist  with  him  till  bedtime.  After 
the  snow  and  ice  and  tempests  of  the  Horn,  the  ship 
bowled  northward  into  summer  weather  again,  and 
the  trip  was  a  picnic  once  more. 

Until  the  early  morning  of  the  3d  of  May.  Com 
puted  position  of  the  ship  112°  10'  west  longitude; 
latitude  2°  above  the  equator;  no  wind,  no  sea  — 
dead  calm;  temperature  of  the  atmosphere,  tropical, 
blistering,  unimaginable  by  one  who  has  not  been 
roasted  in  it.  There  was  a  cry  of  fire.  An  un 
faithful  sailor  had  disobeyed  the  rules  and  gone  into 
the  booby-hatch  with  an  open  light  to  draw  some 
varnish  from  a  cask.  The  proper  result  followed, 
and  the  vessel's  hours  were  numbered. 

There  was  not  much  time  to  spare,  but  the  cap 
tain  made  the  most  of  it.  The  three  boats  were 
launched  —  long-boat  and  two  quarter-boats.  That 
the  time  was  very  short  and  the  hurry  and  excite 
ment  considerable  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  in 
launching  the  boats  a  hole  was  stove  in  the  side  of 
one  of  them  by  some  sort  of  collision,  and  an  oar 
driven  through  the  side  of  another.  The  captain's 
first  care  was  to  have  four  sick  sailors  brought  up 
and  placed  on  deck  out  of  harm's  way  —  among 
them  a  **  Portyghee."  This  man  had  not  done  a 
day's  work  on  the  voyage,  but  had  lain  in  his  ham 
mock  four  months  nursing  an  abscess.  When  we 
were  taking  notes  in  the  Honolulu  hospital  and  a 
sailor  told  this  to  Mr.  Burlingame,  the  third  mate, 
who  was  lying  near,  raised  his  head  with  an  effort, 


90  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

and    in  a  weak  voice  made    this    correction  —  with 
solemnity  and  feeling : 

"  Raising  abscesses  !  He  had  a  family  of  them. 
He  done  it  to  keep  from  standing  his  watch." 

Any  provisions  that  lay  handy  were  gathered  up 
by  the  men  and  the  two  passengers  and  brought  and 
dumped  on  the  deck  where  the  "  Portyghee  "  lay; 
then  they  ran  for  more.  The  sailor  who  was  telling 
this  to  Mr.  Burlingame  added : 

l<We  pulled  together  thirty- two  days'  rations  for 
the  thirty- one  men  that  way." 

The  third  mate  lifted  his  head  again  and  made 
another  correction  —  with  bitterness : 

1  The  Portyghee  et  twenty-two  of  them  while  he 
was  soldiering  there  and  nobody  noticing.  A 
damned  hound." 

The  fire  spread  with  great  rapidity.  The  smoke 
and  flame  drove  the  men  back,  and  they  had  to  stop 
their  incomplete  work  of  fetching  provisions,  and 
take  to  the  boats  with  only  ten  days'  rations 
secured. 

Each  boat  had  a  compass,  a  quadrant,  a  copy 
of  Bowditch's  Navigator,  and  a  nautical  almanac, 
and  the  captain's  and  chief  mate's  boats  had  chro 
nometers.  There  were  thirty-one  men  all  told. 
The  captain  took  an  account  of  stock,  with  the 
following  result:  four  hams,  nearly  thirty  pounds 
of  salt  pork,  half-box  of  raisins,  one  hundred 
pounds  of  bread,  twelve  two-pound  cans  of  oysters, 
clams,  and  assorted  meats,  a  keg  containing  fcHii 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  91 

pounds  of  butter,  twelve  gallons  of  water  in  a  forty- 
gallon  "scuttle-butt,"  four  one-gallon  demijohns 
full  of  water,  three  bottles  of  brandy  (the  property 
of  passengers),  some  pipes,  matches,  and  a  hundred 
pounds  of  tobacco.  No  medicines.  Of  course  the 
whole  party  had  to  go  on  short  rations  at  once. 

The  captain  and  the  two  passengers  kept  diaries. 
On  our  voyage  to  San  Francisco  we  ran  into  a  calm 
in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific,  and  did  not  move  a  rod 
during  fourteen  days;  this  gave  me  a  chance  to 
copy  the  diaries.  Samuel  Ferguson's  is  the  fullest; 
I  will  draw  upon  it  now.  When  the  following  para 
graph  was  written  the  ship  was  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  days  out  from  port,  and  all  hands  were 
putting  in  the  lazy  time  about  as  usual,  as  no  one 
was  forecasting  disaster. 

May  2.  Latitude  i°  28'  N.,  longitude  111°  38' W.  Another  hot 
and  sluggish  day;  at  one  time,  however,  the  clouds  promised  wind,  and 
there  came  a  slight  breeze  —  just  enough  to  keep  us  going.  The  only 
thing  to  chronicle  to-day  is  the  quantities  of  fish  about;  nine  bonitos  were 
caught  this  forenoon,  and  some  large  albacores  seen.  After  dinner  the 
first  mate  hooked  a  fellow  which  he  could  not  hold,  so  he  let  the  line  go 
to  the  captain,  who  was  on  the  bow.  He,  holding  on,  brought  the  fish 
to  with  a  jerk,  and  snap  went  the  line,  hook  and  all.  We  also  saw 
astern,  swimming  lazily  after  us,  an  enormous  shark,  which  must  have 
been  nine  or  ten  feet  long.  We  tried  him  with  all  sorts  of  lines  and  a 
piece  of  pork,  but  he  declined  to  take  hold.  I  suppose  he  had  ap 
peased  his  appetite  on  the  heads  and  other  remains  of  the  bonitos  we 
had  thrown  overboard. 

Next  day's  entry  records  the  disaster.  The  three 
boats  got  away,  retired  to  a  short  distance,  and 
stopped.  The  two  injured  ones  were  leaking  badly; 


0,2  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

some  of  the  men  were  kept  busy  bailing,  others 
patched  the  holes  as  well  as  they  could.  The  cap 
tain,  the  two  passengers,  and  eleven  men  were  in  the 
long-boat,  with  a  share  of  the  provisions  and  water, 
and  with  no  room  to  spare,  for  the  boat  was  only 
twenty-one  feet  long,  six  wide,  and  three  deep. 
The  chief  mate  and  eight  men  were  in  one  of  the 
small  boats,  the  second  mate  and  seven  men  in  the 
other.  The  passengers  had  saved  no  clothing  but 
what  they  had  on,  excepting  their  overcoats.  The 
ship,  clothed  in  flame  and  sending  up  a  vast  column 
of  black  smoke  into  the  sky,  made  a  grand  picture 
in  the  solitudes  of  the  sea,  and  hour  after  hour  the 
outcasts  sat  and  watched  it.  Meantime  the  captain 
ciphered  on  the  immensity  of  the  distance  that 
stretched  between  him  and  the  nearest  available  land, 
and  then  scaled  the  rations  down  to  meet  the  emer 
gency  :  half  a  biscuit  for  breakfast ;  one  biscuit  and 
some  canned  meat  for  dinner;  half  a  biscuit  for 
tea;  a  few  swallows  of  water  for  each  meal.  And 
so  hunger  began  to  gnaw  while  the  ship  was  still 
burning. 

May  4.  The  ship  burned  all  night  very  brightly,  and  hopes  are  that 
some  ship  has  seen  the  light  and  is  bearing  down  upon  us.  None  seen, 
however,  this  forenoon,  so  we  have  determined  to  go  together  north  and  a 
little  west  to  some  islands  in  18°  or  19°  north  latitude  and  114°  to  115° 
west  longitude,  hoping  in  the  meantime  to  be  picked  up  by  some  ship. 
The  ship  sank  suddenly  at  about  5  A.  M.  We  find  the  sun  very  hot  and 
scorching,  but  all  try  to  keep  out  of  it  as  much  as  we  can. 

They    did    a    quite    natural    thing    now:     waited 
several  hours  for  that  possible  ship  that  might  have 


My  De'but  as  a  Literary  Person  93 

seen  the  light  to  work  her  slow  way  to  them  through 
the  nearly  dead  calm.  Then  they  gave  it  up  and 
set  about  their  plans.  If  you  will  look  at  the  map 
you  will  say  that  their  course  could  be  easily  de 
cided.  Albemarle  Island  (Galapagos  group)  lies 
straight  eastward  nearly  a  thousand  miles ;  the  islands 
referred  to  in  the  diary  indefinitely  as  "some 
islands"  (Revillagigedo  Islands)  lie,  as  they  think, 
in  some  widely  uncertain  region  northward  about 
one  thousand  miles  and  westward  one  hundred  or 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Acapulco,  on  the 
Mexican  coast,  lies  about  northeast  something 
short  of  one  thousand  miles.  You  will  say  random 
rocks  in  the  ocean  are  not  what  is  wanted ;  let  them 
strike  for  Acapulco  and  the  solid  continent.  That 
does  look  like  the  rational  course,  but  one  presently 
guesses  from  the  diaries  that  the  thing  would  have 
been  wholly  irrational  —  indeed,  suicidal.  If  the 
boats  struck  for  Albemarle  they  would  be  in  the 
doldrums  all  the  way ;  and  that  means  a  watery  per 
dition,  with  winds  which  arc  wholly  crazy,  and  blow 
from  all  points  of  the  compass  at  once  and  also  per 
pendicularly.  If  the  boats  tried  for  Acapulco  they 
would  get  out  of  the  doldrums  when  half-way  there, 
—  in  case  they  ever  got  half-way, —  and  then  they 
would  be  in  a  lamentable  case,  for  there  they  would 
meet  the  northeast  trades  coming  down  in  their 
teeth,  and  these  boats  were  so  rigged  that  they 
could  not  sail  within  eight  points  of  the  wind.  So 
they  wisely  started  northward,  with  a  slight  slant  to 


94  My  D£but  as  a  Literary  Person 

the  west.  They  had  but  ten  days'  short  allowance 
of  food ;  the  long-boat  was  towing  the  others ;  they 
could  not  depend  on  making  any  sort  of  definite 
progress  in  the  doldrums,  and  they  had  four  or  five 
hundred  miles  of  doldrums  in  front  of  them  yet. 
They  are  the  real  equator,  a  tossing,  roaring,  rainy 
belt,  ten  or  twelve  hundred  miles  broad,  which 
girdles  the  globe. 

It  rained  hard  the  first  night,  and  all  got  drenched, 
but  they  filled  up  their  water-butt.  The  brothers 
were  in  the  stern  with  the  captain,  who  steered. 
The  quarters  were  cramped ;  no  one  got  much 
sleep.  "  Kept  on  our  course  till  squalls  headed  us 
off." 

Stormy  and  squally  the  next  morning,  with 
drenching  rains.  A  heavy  and  dangerous  "cob 
bling"  sea.  One  marvels  how  such  boats  could 
live  in  it.  It  is  called  a  feat  of  desperate  daring 
when  one  man  and  a  dog  cross  the  Atlantic  in  a 
boat  the  size  of  a  long-boat,  and  indeed  it  is ;  but 
this  long-boat  was  overloaded  with  men  and  other 
plunder,  and  was  only  three  feet  deep.  "We 
naturally  thought  often  of  all  at  home,  and  were 
glad  to  remember  that  it  was  Sacrament  Sunday, 
and  that  prayers  would  go  up  from  our  friends  for 
us,  although  they  know  not  our  peril." 

The  captain  got  not  even  a  cat-nap  during  the 
first  three  days  and  nights,  but  he  got  a  few  winks 
of  sleep  the  fourJi  night.  'The  worst  sea  yet." 
About  ten  at  night  the  captain  changed  his  course 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  95 

and  headed  east-northeast,  hoping  to  make  Clipper- 
ton  Rock.  If  he  failed,  no  matter;  he  would  be  in 
a  better  position  to  make  those  other  islands.  I  will 
mention  here  that  he  did  not  find  that  rock. 

On  the  8th  of  May  no  wind  all  day ;  sun  blister 
ing  hot;  they  take  to  the  oars.  Plenty  of  dolphins, 
but  they  could  n't  catch  any.  "I  think  we  are  all 
beginning  to  realize  more  and  more  the  awful  situa 
tion  we  are  in."  "It  often  takes  a  ship  a  week  to 
get  through  the  doldrums;  how  much  longer,  then, 
such  a  craft  as  ours."  "We  are  so  crowded  that 
we  cannot  stretch  ourselves  out  for  a  good  sleep, 
but  have  to  take  it  any  way  we  can  get  it." 

Of  course  this  feature  will  grow  more  and  more 
trying,  but  it  will  be  human  nature  to  cease  to  set  it 
down ;  there  will  be  five  weeks  of  it  yet  —  we  must 
try  to  remember  that  for  the  diarist;  it  will  make 
our  beds  the  softer. 

The  Qth  of  May  the  sun  gives  him  a  warning : 
"Looking  with  both  eyes,  the  horizon  crossed 
thus  -J-."  "  Henry  keeps  well,  but  broods  over  our 
troubles  more  than  I  wish  he  did."  They  caught 
two  dolphins;  they  tasted  well.  'The  captain 
believed  the  compass  out  of  the  way,  but  the  long- 
invisible  north  star  came  out  —  a  welcome  sight  — 
and  indorsed  the  compass." 

May  10,  "latitude  7°  o'  3"  N.,  longitude  in0 
32'  W."  So  they  have  made  about  three  hundred 
miles  of  northing  in  the  six  days*since  they  left  the 
region  of  the  lost  ship.  "Drifting  in  calms  all 


96  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

day."  And  baking  hot,  of  course;  I  have  been 
down  there,  and  I  remember  that  detail.  "  Even  as 
the  captain  says,  all  romance  has  long  since  van 
ished,  and  I  think  the  most  of  us  are  beginning  to 
look  the  fact  of  our  awful  situation  full  in  the  face." 

"We  are  making  but  little  headway  on  our 
course."  Bad  news  from  the  rearmost  boat:  the 
men  are  improvident ;  4 '  they  have  eaten  up  all  of 
the  canned  meats  brought  from  the  ship,  and  are 
now  growing  discontented."  Not  so  with  the  chief 
mate's  people  —  they  are  evidently  under  the  eye  of 
a  man. 

Under  date  of  May  n:  "Standing  still!  or 
worse;  we  lost  more  last  night  than  we  made  yes 
terday."  In  fact,  they  have  lost  three  miles  of  the 
three  hundred  of  northing  they  had  so  laboriously 
made.  '  The  cock  that  was  rescued  and  pitched 
into  the  boat  while  the  ship  was  on  fire  still  lives, 
and  crows  with  the  breaking  of  dawn,  cheering  us  a 
good  deal."  What  has  he  been  living  on  for  a 
week?  Did  the  starving  men  feed  him  from  their 
dire  poverty?  "The  second  mate's  boat  out  of 
water  again,  showing  that  they  overdrink  their  allow 
ance.  The  captain  spoke  pretty  sharply  to  them." 
It  is  true :  I  have  the  remark  in  my  old  notebook ; 
I  got  it  of  the  third  mate  in  the  hospital  at  Honolulu. 
But  there  is  not  room  for  it  here,  and  it  is  too  com 
bustible,  anyway.  Besides,  the  third  mate  admired 
it,  and  what  he  admired  he  was  likely  to  enhance. 

They  were  still  watching  hopefully  for  ships.     The 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  97 

captain  was  a  thoughtful  man,  and  probably  did  not 
disclose  to  them  that  that  was  substantially  a  waste 
of  time.  "  In  this  latitude  the  horizon  is  filled  with 
little  upright  clouds  that  look  very  much  like  ships." 
Mr.  Ferguson  saved  three  bottles  of  brandy  from  his 
private  stores  when  he  left  the  ship,  and  the  liquor 
came  good  in  these  days.  '  The  captain  serves  out 
two  tablespoonf uls  of  brandy  and  water  —  half  and 
half  —  to  our  crew."  He  means  the  watch  that  is 
on  duty;  they  stood  regular  watches  —  four  hours 
on  and  four  off.  The  chief  mate  was  an  excellent 
officer  —  a  self-possessed,  resolute,  fine,  all-round 
man.  The  diarist  makes  the  following  note  —  there 
is  character  in  it :  "I  offered  one  bottle  of  brandy  to 
the  chief  mate,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  could 
keep  the  after-boat  quiet,  and  we  had  not  enough 
for  all." 

HENRY  FERGUSON'S  DIARY  TO  DATE,  GIVEN  IN  FULL. 

May  4,  5,  6,  doldrums.  May  7,  8,  9,  doldrums.  May  10,  n,  12, 
doldrums.  Tells  it  all.  Never  saw,  never  felt,  never  heard,  never 
experienced  such  heat,  such  darkness,  such  lightning  and  thunder,  and 
wind  and  rain,  in  my  life  before. 

That  boy's  diary  is  of  the  economical  sort  that  a 
person  might  properly  be  expected  to  keep  in  such 
circumstances  —  and  be  forgiven  for  the  economy, 
too.  His  brother,  perishing  of  consumption, 
hunger,  thirst,  blazing  heat,  drowning  rains,  loss  of 
sleep,  lack  of  exercise,  was  persistently  faithful  and 
circumstantial  with  his  diary  from  the  first  day  to 
the  last  —  an  instance  of  noteworthy  fidelity  and 


98  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

resolution.  In  spite  of  the  tossing  and  plunging 
boat  he  wrote  it  close  and  fine,  in  a  hand  as  easy 
to  read  as  print.  They  can't  seem  to  get  north  of 
7°  N. ;  they  are  still  there  the  next  day: 

May  12.  A  good  rain  last  night,  and  we  caught  a  good  deal,  though 
not  enough  to  fill  up  our  tank,  pails,  etc.  Our  object  is  to  get  out  of 
these  doldrums,  but  it  seems  as  if  we  cannot  do  it.  To-day  we  have  had 
it  very  variable,  and  hope  we  are  on  the  northern  edge,  though  we  are 
not  much  above  7°.  This  morning  we  all  thought  we  had  made  out  a 
sail;  but  it  was  one  of  those  deceiving  clouds.  Rained  a  good  deal  to 
day,  making  all  hands  wet  and  uncomfortable;  we  filled  up  pretty  nearly 
all  our  water-pots,  however.  I  hope  we  may  have  a  fine  night,  for  the 
captain  certainly  wants  rest,  and  while  there  is  any  danger  of  squalls,  or 
danger  of  any  kind,  he  is  always  on  hand.  I  never  would  have  believed 
that  open  boats  such  as  ours,  with  their  loads,  could  live  in  some  of  the 
seas  we  have  had. 

During  the  night,  1 2th- 1 3th,  "  the  cry  of  A  ship! 
brought  us  to  our  feet."  It  seemed  to  be  the 
glimmer  of  a  vessel's  signal-lantern  rising  out  of  the 
curve  of  the  sea.  There  was  a  season  of  breathless 
hope  while  they  stood  watching,  with  their  hands 
shading  their  eyes,  and  their  hearts  in  their  throats ; 
then  the  promise  failed :  the  light  was  a  rising  star. 
It  is  a  long  time  ago, —  thirty-two  years, — and  it 
does  n't  matter  now,  yet  one  is  sorry  for  their  disap 
pointment.  "Thought  often  of  those  at  home  to 
day,  and  of  the  disappointment  they  will  feel  next 
Sunday  at  not  hearing  from  us  by  telegraph  from 
San  Francisco."  It  will  be  many  weeks  yet  before 
the  telegram  is  received,  and  it  will  come  as  a 
thunder-clap  of  joy  then,  and  with  the  seeming  of  a 
miracle,  for  it  will  raise  from  the  grave  men 


My  De"but  as  a  Literary  Person  99 

mourned  as  dead.  *  To-day  our  rations  were  re 
duced  to  a  quarter  of  a  biscuit  a  meal,  with  about 
half  a  pint  of  water."  This  is  on  the  I3th  of  May, 
with  more  than  a  month  of  voyaging  in  front  of 
them  yet !  However,  as  they  do  not  know  that, 
"  we  are  all  feeling  pretty  cheerful." 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  I4th  there  was  a  thunder 
storm,  ' '  which  toward  night  seemed  to  close  in  around 
us  on  every  side,  making  it  very  dark  and  squally." 
44  Our  situation  is  becoming  more  and  more  desper 
ate,"  for  they  were  making  very  little  northing, 
44  and  every  day  diminishes  our  small  stock  of  pro 
visions."  They  realize  that  the  boats  must  soon 
separate,  and  each  fight  for  its  own  life.  Towing 
the  quarter-boats  is  a  hindering  business. 

That  night  and  next  day,  light  and  baffling  winds 
and  but  little  progress.  Hard  to  bear,  that  per 
sistent  standing  still,  and  the  food  wasting  away. 
14  Everything  in  a  perfect  sop;  and  all  so  cramped, 
and  no  change  of  clothes."  Soon  the  sun  comes 
out  and  roasts  them.  4<Joe  caught  another  dol 
phin  to-day ;  in  his  maw  we  found  a  flying-fish  and 
two  skip-jacks."  There  is  an  event,  now,  which 
rouses  an  enthusiasm  of  hope :  a  land-bird  arrives ! 
It  rests  on  the  yard  for  awhile,  and  they  can  look  at 
it  all  they  like,  and  envy  it,  and  thank  it  for  its 
message.  As  a  subject  of  talk  it  is  beyond  price — a 
fresh,  new  topic  for  tongues  tired  to  death  of  talking 
upon  a  single  theme:  Shall  we  ever  see  the  land 
again;  and  when?  Is  the  bird  from  Clipperton 


ioo  My  De"but  as  a  Literary  Person 

Rock?  They  hope  so;  and  they  take  heart  of 
grace  to  believe  so.  As  it  turned  out,  the  bird  had 
no  message ;  it  merely  came  to  mock. 

May  1 6,  "the  cock  still  lives,  and  daily  carols 
forth  His  praise."  It  will  be  a  rainy  night,  "but 
I  do  not  care  if  we  can  fill  up  our  water-butts." 

On  the  i/th  one  of  those  majestic  specters  of  the 
deep,  a  water-spout,  stalked  by  them,  and  they 
trembled  for  their  lives.  Young  Henry  set  it  down 
in  his  scanty  journal  with  the  judicious  comment 
that  "  it  might  have  been  a  fine  sight  from  a  ship." 

From  Captain  Mitchell's  log  for  this  day:  "Only 
half  a  bushel  of  bread-crumbs  left."  (And  a  month 
to  wander  the  seas  yet.) 

It  rained  all  night  and  all  day ;  everybody  uncom 
fortable.  Now  came  a  swordfish  chasing  a  bonito; 
and  the  poor  thing,  seeking  help  and  friends,  took 
refuge  under  the  rudder.  The  big  swordfish  kept 
hovering  around,  scaring  everybody  badly.  The 
men's  mouths  watered  for  him,  for  he  would  have 
made  a  whole  banquet;  but  no  one  dared  to  touch 
him,  of  course,  for  he  would  sink  a  boat  promptly 
if  molested.  Providence  protected  the  poor  bonito 
from  the  cruel  swordfish.  This  was  just  and  right. 
Providence  next  befriended  the  shipwrecked  sailors : 
they  got  the  bonito.  This  was  also  just  and  right. 
But  in  the  distribution  of  mercies  the  swordfish  him 
self  got  overlooked.  He  now  went  away;  to  muse 
over  these  subtleties,  probably.  "  The  men  in  all  the 
boats  seem  pretty  well ;  the  feeblest  of  the  sick  ones 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Persoix  10.1, 

(not  able  for  a  long  time  to  stand  his  watch  on 
board  the  ship)  is  wonderfully  recovered."  This  is 
the  third  mate's  detested  "  Portyghee  "  that  raised 
the  family  of  abscesses. 

Passed  a  most  awful  night.  Rained  hard  nearly  all  the  time,  and  blew 
in  squalls,  accompanied  by  terrific  thunder  and  lightning,  from  all  points 
of  the  compass. —  Henry's  Log, 

Most  awful  night  I  ever  witnessed. —  Captain's  Log. 

Latitude,  May  18,  11°  n'.  So  they  have  aver 
aged  but  forty  miles  of  northing  a  day  during  the 
fortnight.  Further  talk  of  separating.  '  Too  bad, 
but  it  must  be  done  for  the  safety  of  the  whole." 
"  At  first  I  never  dreamed,  but  now  hardly  shut  my 
eyes  for  a  cat-nap  without  conjuring  up  something 
or  other  —  to  be  accounted  for  by  weakness,  I  sup 
pose."  But  for  their  disaster  they  think  they  would 
be  arriving  in  San  Francisco  about  this  time.  "I 

should  have  liked  to  send  B the  telegram  for 

her  birthday."  This  was  a  young  sister. 

On  the  i  Qth  the  captain  called  up  the  quarter- 
boats  and  said  one  would  have  to  go  off  on  its  own 
hook.  The  long-boat  could  no  longer  tow  both  of 
them.  The  second  mate  refused  to  go,  but  the  chief 
mate  was  ready ;  in  fact,  he  was  always  ready  when 
there  was  a  man's  work  to  the  fore.  He  took  the 
second  mate's  boat;  six  of  its  crew  elected  to  re 
main,  and  two  of  his  own  crew  came  with  him  (nine 
in  the  boat,  now,  including  himself).  He  sailed 
away,  and  toward  sunset  passed  out  of  sight.  The 
diarist  was  sorry  to  see  him  go.  It  was  natural; 


.JQ2  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

one  could  have  better  spared  the  "  Portyghee." 
After  thirty-two  years  I  find  my  prejudice  against 
this  "Portyghee"  reviving.  His  very  looks  have 
long  passed  out  of  my  memory;  but  no  matter,  I 
am  coming  to  hate  him  as  religiously  as  ever. 
11  Water  will  now  be  a  scarce  article,  for  as  we  get 
out  of  the  doldrums  we  shall  get  showers  only  now 
and  then  in  the  trades.  This  life  is  telling  severely 
on  my  strength.  Henry  holds  out  first-rate." 
Henry  did  not  start  well,  but  under  hardships  he  im 
proved  straight  along. 

Latitude,  Sunday,  May  20,  12°  o'  9".  They 
ought  to  be  well  out  of  the  doldrums  now,  but  they 
are  not.  No  breeze  —  the  longed-for  trades  still 
missing.  They  are  still  anxiously  watching  for  a 
sail,  but  they  have  only  "  visions  of  ships  that  come 
to  naught  —  the  shadow  without  the  substance." 
The  second  mate  catches  a  booby  this  afternoon,  a 
bird  which  consists  mainly  of  feathers;  "but  as 
they  have  no  other  meat,  it  will  go  well." 

May  21,  they  strike  the  trades  at  last!  The 
second  mate  catches  three  more  boobies,  and  gives 
the  long-boat  one.  Dinner  "  half  a  can  of  mince 
meat  divided  up  and  served  around,  which  strength 
ened  us  somewhat."  They  have  to  keep  a  man 
bailing  all  the  time ;  the  hole  knocked  in  the  boat 
when  she  was  launched  from  the  burning  ship  was 
never  efficiently  mended.  "  Heading  about  north 
west  now."  They  hope  they  have  easting  enough 
to  make  some  of  those  indefinite  isles.  Failing  that, 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  103 

they  think  they  will  be  in  a  better  position  to  be 
picked  up.  It  was  an  infinitely  slender  chance,  but 
the  captain  probably  refrained  from  mentioning 
that. 

The  next  day  is  to  be  an  eventful  one. 

May  22.  Last  night  wind  headed  us  off,  so  that  part  of  the  time  we 
had  to  steer  east-southeast  and  then  west-northwest,  and  so  on.  This 
morning  we  were  all  startled  by  a  cry  of  "  Sail  ho  /"  Sure  enough  we 
could  see  it !  And  for  a  time  we  cut  adrift  from  the  second  mate's  boat, 
and  steered  so  as  to  attract  its  attention.  This  was  about  half -past  five 
A.  M.  After  sailing  in  a  state  of  high  excitement  for  almost  twenty 
minutes  we  made  it  out  to  be  the  chief  mate's  boat.  Of  course  we  were 
glad  to  see  them  and  have  them  report  all  well;  but  still  it  was  a  bitter 
disappointment  to  us  all.  Now  that  we  are  in  the  trades  it  seems  im 
possible  to  make  northing  enough  to  strike  the  isles.  We  have  deter 
mined  to  do  the  best  we  can,  and  get  in  the  route  of  vessels.  Such 
being  the  determination,  it  became  necessary  to  cast  off  the  other  boat, 
which,  after  a  good  deal  of  unpleasantness,  was  done,  we  again  dividing 
water  and  stores,  and  taking  Cox  into  our  boat.  This  makes  our  num 
ber  fifteen.  The  second  mate's  crew  wanted  to  all  get  in  with  us  and 
cast  the  other  boat  adrift.  It  was  a  very  painful  separation. 

So  those  isles  that  they  have  struggled  for  so  long 
and  so  hopefully  have  to  be  given  up.  What  with 
lying  birds  that  come  to  mock,  and  isles  that  are 
but  a  dream,  and  "visions  of  ships  that  come  to 
naught,"  it  is  a  pathetic  time  they  are  having,  with 
much  heartbreak  in  it.  It  was  odd  that  the  vanished 
boat,  three  days  lost  to  sight  in  that  vast  solitude, 
should  appear  again.  But  it  brought  Cox  —  we 
can't  be  certain  why.  But  if  it  had  n't,  the  diarist 
would  never  have  seen  the  land  again. 

Our  chances  as  we  go  west  increase  in  regard  to  being  picked  up,  but 
each  day  our  scanty  fare  is  so  much  reduced.      Without  the  fish,  turtle, 


104  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

and  birds  sent  us,  I  do  not  know  how  we  should  have  got  along.  The 
other  day  I  offered  to  read  prayers  morning  and  evening  for  the  captain, 
and  last  night  commenced.  The  men,  although  of  various  nationalities 
and  religions,  are  very  attentive,  and  always  uncovered.  May  God  grant 
my  weak  endeavor  its  issue. 

Latitude,  May  24,  14°  18'  N.  Five  oysters  apiece 
for  dinner  and  three  spoonfuls  of  juice,  a  gill  of 
water,  and  a  piece  of  biscuit  the  size  of  a  silver  dol 
lar.  f<We  are  plainly  getting  weaker  —  God  have 
mercy  upon  us  all !  "  That  night  heavy  seas  break 
over  the  weather  side  and  make  everybody  wet  and 
uncomfortable,  besides  requiring  constant  bailing. 
Next  day  "  nothing  particular  happened."  Perhaps 
some  of  us  would  have  regarded  it  differently. 
14  Passed  a  spar,  but  not  near  enough  to  see  what  it 
was."  They  saw  some  whales  blow;  there  were  fly 
ing-fish  skimming  the  seas,  but  none  came  aboard. 
Misty  weather,  with  fine  rain,  very  penetrating. 

Latitude,  May  26,  15°  50'.  They  caught  a  flying- 
fish  and  a  booby,  but  had  to  eat  them  raw.  '  The 
men  grow  weaker,  and,  I  think,  despondent;  they 
say  very  little,  though."  And  so,  to  all  the  other 
imaginable  and  unimaginable  horrors,  silence  is 
added- — the  muteness  and  brooding  of  coming 
despair.  "It  seems  our  best  chance  to  get  in  the 
track  of  ships,  with  the  hope  that  some  one  will  run 
near  enough  to  our  speck  to  see  it."  He  hopes 
the  other  boats  stood  west  and  have  been  picked  up. 
(They  will  never  be  heard  of  again  in  this  world.) 

Sunday,  May  27.  Latitude  16°  o'  5";  longitude,  by  chronometer, 
117°  22'.  Our  fourth  Sunday !  When  we  left  the  ship  we  reckoned  on 


My  De"but  as  a  Literary  Person  105 

having  about  ten  days'  supplies,  and  now  we  hope  to  be  able,  by  rigid 
economy,  to  make  them  last  another  week  if  possible.*  Last  night  the 
sea  was  comparatively  quiet,  but  the  wind  headed  us  off  to  about  west- 
northwest,  which  has  been  about  our  course  all  day  to-day.  Another 
flying-fish  came  aboard  last  night,  and  one  more  to-day  —  both  small 
ones.  No  birds.  A  booby  is  a  great  catch,  and  a  good  large  one 
makes  a  small  dinner  for  the  fifteen  of  us  —  that  is,  of  course,  as  dinners 
go  in  the  Hornefs  long-boat.  Tried  this  morning  to  read  the  full  ser 
vice  to  myself,  with  the  communion,  but  found  it  too  much;  am  too 
weak,  and  get  sleepy,  and  cannot  give  strict  attention;  so  I  put  off  half 
till  this  afternoon.  I  trust  God  will  hear  the  prayers  gone  up  for  us  at 
home  to-day,  and  graciously  answer  them  by  sending  us  succor  and  help 
in  this  our  season  of  deep  distress. 

The  next  day  was  "  a  good  day  for  seeing  a 
ship."  But  none  was  seen.  The  diarist  "  still  feels 
pretty  well,"  though  very  weak;  his  brother  Henry 
"  bears  up  and  keeps  his  strength  the  best  of  any  on 
board."  "  I  do  not  feel  despondent  at  all,  for  I 
fully  trust  that  the  Almighty  will  hear  our  and  the 
home  prayers,  and  He  who  suffers  not  a  sparrow  to 
fall  sees  and  cares  for  us,  His  creatures." 

Considering  the  situation  and  circumstances,  the 
record  for  next  day,  May  29,  is  one  which  has  a 
surprise  in  it  for  those  dull  people  who  think  that 
nothing  but  medicines  and  doctors  can  cure  the  sick. 
A  little  starvation  can  really  do  more  for  the  average 
sick  man  than  can  the  best  medicines  and  the  best 
doctors.  I  do  not  mean  a  restricted  diet;  I  mean 
total  abstention  from  food  for  one  or  two  days.  I 
speak  from  experience ;  starvation  has  been  my  cold 
and  fever  doctor  for  fifteen  years,  and  has  accom 


*  There  are  nineteen  days  of  voyaging  ahead  yet. —  M.  T. 


106  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

plished  a  cure  in  all  instances.  The  third  mate  told 
me  in  Honolulu  that  the  ' '  Portyghee  ' '  had  lain  in 
his  hammock  for  months,  raising  his  family  of 
abscesses  and  feeding  like  a  cannibal.  We  have 
seen  that  in  spite  of  dreadful  weather,  deprivation 
of  sleep,  scorching,  drenching,  and  all  manner  of 
miseries,  thirteen  days  of  starvation  "wonderfully 
recovered"  him.  There  were  four  sailors  down 
sick  when  the  ship  was  burned.  Twenty-five  days 
of  pitiless  starvation  have  followed,  and  now  we 
have  this  curious  record  :  "  All  the  men  are  hearty 
and  strong ;  even  the  ones  that  were  down  sick  are 
welly  except  poor  Peter."  When  I  wrote  an  article 
some  months  ago  urging  temporary  abstention  from 
food  as  a  remedy  for  an  inactive  appetite  and  for 
disease,  I  was  accused  of  jesting,  but  I  was  in 
earnest.  '  We  are  all  wonderfully  well  and  strong, 
comparatively  speaking."  On  this  day  the  starva 
tion  regimen  drew  its  belt  a  couple  of  buckle-holes 
tighter :  the  bread  ration  was  reduced  from  the 
usual  piece  of  cracker  the  size  of  a  silver  dollar  to 
the  half  of  that,  and  one  meal  was  abolished  from 
the  daily  three.  This  will  weaken  the  men  physically, 
but  if  there  are  any  diseases  of  an  ordinary  sort  left 
in  them  they  will  disappear. 

Two  quarts  bread-crumbs  left,  one-third  of  a  ham,  three  small  cans  of 
oysters,  and  twenty  gallons  of  water.  —  Captain's  Log. 

The  hopeful  tone  of  the  diaries  is  persistent.  It 
is  remarkable.  Look  at  the  map  and  see  where  the 
boat  is:  latitude  16°  44',  longitude  119°  20'.  It  is 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  107 

more  than  two  hundred  miles  west  of  the  Revil- 
lagigedo  Islands,  so  they  are  quite  out  of  the  ques 
tion  against  the  trades,  rigged  as  this  boat  is.  The 
nearest  land  available  for  such  a  boat  is  the  American 
group,  six  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  westward; 
still,  there  is  no  note  of  surrender,  none  even  of  dis 
couragement !  Yet,  May  30,  "we  have  now  left: 
one  can  of  oysters  ;  three  pounds  of  raisins  ;  one  can 
of  soup  ;  one-third  of  a  ham  ;  three  pints  of  biscuit- 
crumbs."  And  fifteen  starved  men  to  live  on  it 
while  they  creeo  and  crawl  six  hundred  and  fifty 
miles.  "  Somehow  I  feel  much  encouraged  by  this 
change  of  course  (west  by  north)  which  we  have 
made  to-day."  Six  hundred  and  fifty  miles  on  a 
hatful  of  provisions.  Let  us  be  thankful,  even  after 
thirty-two  years,  that  they  are  mercifully  ignorant  of 
the  fact  that  it  isn't  six  hundred  and  fifty  that  they 
must  creep  on  the  hatful,  but  twenty-two  hundred ! 
Isn't  the  situation  romantic  enough  just  as  it  stands? 
No.  Providence  added  a  startling  detail:  pulling  an 
oar  in  that  boat,  for  common  seaman's  wages,  was 
a  banished  duke — Danish.  We  hear  no  more  of 
him;  just  that  mention,  that  is  all,  with  the  simple 
remark  added  that  "  he  is  one  of  our  best  men  " 
a  high  enough  compliment  for  a  duke  or  any  other 
man  in  those  manhood-testing  circumstances.  With 
that  little  glimpse  of  him  at  his  oar,  and  that  fine 
word  of  praise,  he  vanishes  out  of  our  knowledge 
for  all  time.  For  all  time,  unless  he  should  chance 
upon  this  note  and  reveal  himself. 


io8  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

The  last  day  of  May  is  come.  And  now  there  is 
a  disaster  to  report:  think  of  it,  reflect  upon  it,  and 
try  to  understand  how  much  it  means,  when  you 
sit  down  with  your  family  and  pass  your  eye  over 
your  breakfast- table.  Yesterday  there  were  three 
pints  of  bread-crumbs ;  this  morning  the  little  bag  is 
found  open  and  some  of  the  crumbs  missing.  "  We 
dislike  to  suspect  any  one  of  such  a  rascally  act,  but 
there  is  no  question  that  this  grave  crime  has  been 
committed.  Two  days  will  certainly  finish  the  re 
maining  morsels.  God  grant  us  strength  to  reach 
the  American  group!"  The  third  mate  told  me  in 
Honolulu  that  in  these  days  the  men  remembered 
with  bitterness  that  the  "  Portyghee  "  had  devoured 
twenty-two  days'  rations  while  he  lay  waiting  to  be 
transferred  from  the  burning  ship,  and  that  now  they 
cursed  him  and  swore  an  oath  that  if  it  came  to  can 
nibalism  he  should  be  the  first  to  suffer  for  the  rest. 

The  captain  has  lost  his  glasses,  and  therefore  he  cannot  read  our 
pocket  prayer-books  as  much  as  I  think  he  would  like,  though  he  is  not 
familiar  with  them. 

Further  of  the  captain:  "He  is  a  good  man, 
and  has  been  most  kind  to  us  —  almost  fatherly. 
He  says  that  if  he  had  been  offered  the  command  of 
the  ship  sooner  he  should  have  brought  his  two 
daughters  with  him."  It  makes  one  shudder  yet  to 
think  how  narrow  an  escape  it  was. 

The  two  meals  (rations)  a  day  are  as  follows:  fourteen  raisins  and  a 
piece  of  cracker  the  size  of  a  cent,  for  tea;  a  gill  of  water,  and  a  piece 
of  ham  and  a  piece  of  bread,  each  the  size  of  a  cent,  for  breakfast.  — 
Captain's  Log. 


My  De"but  as  a  Literary  Person  109 

He  means  a  cent  in  thickness  as  well  as  in  circum 
ference.  Samuel  Ferguson's  diary  says  the  ham 
was  shaved  "  about  as  thin  as  it  could  be  cut." 

June  i .  Last  night  and  to-day  sea  very  high  and  cobbling,  breaking 
over  and  making  us  all  wet  and  cold.  Weather  squally,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  only  careful  management  —  with  God's  protecting  care  — 
preserved  us  through  both  the  night  and  the  day;  and  really  it  is  most 
marvelous  how  every  morsel  that  passes  our  lips  is  blessed  to  us.  It 
makes  me  think  daily  of  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes.  Henry 
keeps  up  wonderfully,  which  is  a  great  consolation  to  me.  I  somehow 
have  great  confidence,  and  hope  that  our  afflictions  will  soon  be  ended, 
though  we  are  running  rapidly  across  the  track  of  both  outward  and 
inward  bound  vessels,  and  away  from  them;  our  chief  hope  is  a  whaler, 
man-of-war,  or  some  Australian  ship.  The  isles  we  are  steering  for  are 
put  down  in  Bowditch,  but  on  my  map  are  said  to  be  doubtful.  God 
grant  they  may  be  there  ! 

Hardest  day  yet. —  Captain's  Log. 

Doubtful !  It  was  worse  than  that.  A  week  later 
they  sailed  straight  over  them. 

June  2.  Latitude  18°  9'.  Squally,  cloudy,  a  heavy  sea.  ...  I 
cannot  help  thinking  of  the  cheerful  and  comfortable  time  we  had 
aboard  the  Hornet. 

Two  days'  scanty  supplies  left  —  ten  rations  of  water  apiece  and  a 
little  morsel  of  bread.  But  the  sun  shines,  and  God  is  merciful.  —  Cap 
tain 's  Log. 

Sunday,  June  3.  Latitude  17°  54'.  Heavy  sea  all  night,  and  from 
4  A.  M.  very  wet,  the  sea  breaking  over  us  in  frequent  sluices,  and  soak 
ing  everything  aft,  particularly.  All  day  the  sea  has  been  very  high, 
and  it  is  a  wonder  that  we  are  not  swamped.  Heaven  grant  that  it 
may  go  down  this  evening !  Our  suspense  and  condition  are  getting 
terrible.  I  managed  this  morning  to  crawl,  more  than  step,  to  the 
forward  end  of  the  boat,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  I  was  so  weak, 
especially  in  the  legs  and  knees.  The  sun  has  been  out  again,  and  I 
have  dried  some  things,  and  hope  for  a  better  night. 

June  4.  Latitude  17°  6',  longitude  131°  30'.  Shipped  hardly  any 
seas  last  night,  and  to-day  the  sea  has  gone  down  somewhat,  although 


no  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

it  is  still  too  high  for  comfort,  as  we  have  an  occasional  reminder  that 
water  is  wet.  The  sun  has  been  out  all  day,  and  so  we  have  had  a 
good  drying.  I  have  been  trying  for  the  last  ten  or  twelve  days  to  get 
a  pair  of  drawers  dry  enough  to  put  on,  and  to-day  at  last  succeeded. 
I  mention  this  to  show  the  state  in  which  we  have  lived.  If  our 
chronometer  is  anywhere  near  right,  we  ought  to  see  the  American 
Isles  to-morrow  or  next  day.  If  they  are  not  there,  we  have  only  the 
chance  for  a  few  days,  of  a  stray  ship,  for  we  cannot  eke  out  the 
provisions  more  than  five  or  six  days  longer,  and  our  strength  is  failing 
very  fast.  I  was  much  surprised  to-day  to  note  how  my  legs  have  wasted 
away  above  my  knees :  they  are  hardly  thicker  than  my  upper  arm  used 
to  be.  Still,  I  trust  in  God's  infinite  mercy,  and  feel  sure  he  will  do 
what  is  best  for  us.  To  survive,  as  we  have  done,  thirty-two  days  in  an 
open  boat,  with  only  about  ten  days'  fair  provisions  for  thirty-one  men 
in  the  first  place,  and  these  divided  twice  subsequently,  is  more  than 
mere  unassisted  human  art  and  strength  could  have  accomplished  and 
endured. 

Bread  and  raisins  all  gone. —  Captain's  Log. 

Men  growing  dreadfully  discontented,  and  awful  grumbling  and  un 
pleasant  talk  is  arising.  God  save  us  from  all  strife  of  men;  and  if  we 
must  die  now,  take  us  himself,  and  not  embitter  our  bitter  death  still 
more. —  Henry's  Log. 

June  5.  Quiet  night  and  pretty  comfortable  day,  though  our  sail  and 
block  show  signs  of  failing,  and  need  taking  down  —  which  latter  is 
something  of  a  job,  as  it  requires  the  climbing  of  the  mast.  We  also 
had  news  from  forward,  there  being  discontent  and  some  threatening 
complaints  of  unfair  allowances,  etc.,  all  as  unreasonable  as  foolish;  still, 
these  things  bid  us  be  on  our  guard.  I  am  getting  miserably  weak,  but 
try  to  keep  up  the  best  I  can.  If  we  cannot  find  those  isles  we  can  only 
try  to  make  northwest  and  get  in  the  track  of  Sandwich  Island  bound 
vessels,  living  as  best  we  can  in  the  meantime.  To-day  we  changed  to 
one  meal,  and  that  at  about  noon,  with  a  small  ration  of  water  at  8  or  9 
A.  M.,  another  at  12  M.,  and  a  third  at  5  or  6  P.  M. 

Nothing  left  but  a  little  piece  of  ham  and  a  gill  of  water,  all  around. 
—  Captain's  Log. 

They  are  down  to  one  meal  a  day  now, —  such  as 
it  is, —  and  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  crawl  yet !  And 
now  the  horrors  deepen,  and  though  they  escaped 


My  D^but  as  a  Literary  Person  1 1 1 

actual  mutiny,  the  attitude  of  the  men  became 
alarming.  Now  we  seem  to  see  why  that  curious 
accident  happened,  so  long  ago:  I  mean  Cox's  re 
turn,  after  he  had  been  far  away  and  out  of  sight 
several  days  in  the  chief  mate's  boat.  If  he  had 
not  come  back  the  captain  and  the  two  young  pas 
sengers  would  have  been  slain  by  these  sailors,  who 
were  becoming  crazed  through  their  sufferings. 

NOTE   SECRETLY  PASSED  BY   HENRY  TO   HIS   BROTHER. 

Cox  told  me  last  night  that  there  is  getting  to  be  a  good  deal  of 
ugly  talk  among  the  men  against  the  captain  and  us  aft.  They  say  that 
the  captain  is  the  cause  of  all;  that  he  did  not  try  to  save  the  ship  at 
all,  nor  to  get  provisions,  and  even  would  not  let  the  men  put  in  some 
they  had;  and  that  partiality  is  shown  us  in  apportioning  our  rations  aft. 
*  *  *  asked  Cox  the  other  day  if  he  would  starve  first  or  eat  human 
flesh.  Cox  answered  he  would  starve.  *  *  *  then  told  him  he  would  be 
only  killing  himself.  If  we  do  not  find  these  islands  we  would  do  well 
to  prepare  for  anything.  *  *  *  is  the  loudest  of  all. 

REPLY. 

We  can  depend  on  *  *  *,  I  think,  and  *  *  *,  and  Cox,  can  we  not  ? 

SECOND   NOTE. 

I  guess  so,  and  very  likely  on  *  *  *;  but  there  is  no  telling.  *  *  * 
and  Cox  are  certain.  There  is  nothing  definite  said  or  hinted  as  yet,  as  I 
understand  Cox;  but  starving  men  are  the  same  as  maniacs.  It  would  be 
well  to  keep  a  watch  on  your  pistol,  so  as  to  have  it  and  the  cartridges 
safe  from  theft. 

Henry's  Log,  June  5.  Dreadful  forebodings.  God  spare  us  from  all 
such  horrors !  Some  of  the  men  getting  to  talk  a  good  deal.  Nothing 
to  write  down.  Heart  very  sad. 

Henry's  Log,  June  6.  Passed  some  seaweed,  and  something  that 
looked  like  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  but  no  birds;  beginning  to  be  afraid 
islands  not  there.  To-day  it  was  said  to  the  captain,  in  the  hearing  of 
all,  that  some  of  the  men  would  not  shrink,  when  a  man  was  dead,  fron; 


ii2  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

using  the  flesh,  though  they  would  not  kill.  Horrible !  God  give  us  all 
full  use  of  our  reason,  and  spare  us  from  such  things !  "  From  plague, 
pestilence,  and  famine,  from  battle  and  murder,  and  from  sudden  death, 
good  Lord,  deliver  us !  " 

June  6.  Latitude  16°  30',  longitude  (chron.)  134°.  Dry  night  and 
wind  steady  enough  to  require  no  change  in  sail;  but  this  A.  M.  an  at 
tempt  to  lower  it  proved  abortive.  First  the  third  mate  tried  and  got  up 
to  the  block,  and  fastened  a  temporary  arrangement  to  reeve  the  hal 
yards  through,  but  had  to  come  down,  weak  and  almost  fainting,  before 
finishing;  then  Joe  tried,  and  after  twice  ascending,  fixed  it  and  brought 
down  the  block;  but  it  was  very  exhausting  work,  and  afterward  he  was 
good  for  nothing  all  day.  The  clue-iron  which  we  are  trying  to  make 
serve  for  the  broken  block  works,  however,  very  indifferently,  and  will, 
I  am  afraid,  soon  cut  the  rope.  It  is  very  necessary  to  get  everything 
connected  with  the  sail  in  good,  easy  running  order  before  we  get  too 
weak  to  do  anything  with  it. 

Only  three  meals  left. —  Captain's  Log. 

June  7.  Latitude  16°  35'  N.,  longitude  136°  30'  W.  Night  wet 
and  uncomfortable.  To-day  shows  us  pretty  conclusively  that  the 
American  Isles  are  not  there,  though  we  have  had  some  signs  that 
looked  like  them.  At  noon  we  decided  to  abandon  looking  any  farther 
for  them,  and  to-night  haul  a  little  more  northerly,  so  as  to  get  in  the 
way  of  Sandwich  Island  vessels,  which  fortunately  come  down  pretty  well 
this  way — say  to  latitude  19°  to  20°  —  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  trade 
winds.  Of  course  all  the  westing  we  have  made  is  gain,  and  I  hope  the 
chronometer  is  wrong  in  our  favor,  for  I  do  not  see  how  any  such  delicate 
instrument  can  keep  good  time  with  the  constant  jarring  and  thumping 
we  get  from  the  sea.  With  the  strong  trade  we  have,  I  hope  that  a 
week  from  Sunday  will  put  us  in  sight  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  if  we 
are  not  safe  by  that  time  by  being  picked  up. 

It  is  twelve  hundred  miles  to  the  Sandwich 
Islands;  the  provisions  are  virtually  exhausted,  but 
not  the  perishing  diarist's  pluck. 

June  8.  My  cough  troubled  me  a  good  deal  last  night,  and  therefore 
I  got  hardly  any  sleep  at  all.  Still,  I  make  out  pretty  well,  and  should 
not  complain.  Yesterday  the  third  mate  mended  the  block,  and  this 
P.  M.  the  sail,  after  some  difficulty,  was  got  down,  and  Harry  got  to  the 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  1 1 3 

top  of  the  mast  and  rove  the  halyards  through  after  some  hardship,  so 
that  it  now  works  easy  and  well.  This  getting  up  the  mast  is  no  easy 
matter  at  any  time  with  the  sea  we  have,  and  is  very  exhausting  in  our 
present  state.  We  could  only  reward  Harry  by  an  extra  ration  of 
water.  We  have  made  good  time  and  course  to-day.  Heading  her  up, 
however,  makes  the  boat  ship  seas  and  keeps  us  all  wet;  however,  it 
cannot  be  helped.  Writing  is  a  rather  precarious  thing  these  times.  Our 
meal  to-day  for  the  fifteen  consists  of  half  a  can  of  "  soup  and  boullie  "; 
the  other  half  is  reserved  for  to-morrow.  Henry  still  keeps  up  grandly, 
and  is  a  great  favorite.  God  grant  he  may  be  spared ! 

A  better  feeling  prevails  among  the  men. — Captain's  Log. 

June  9.  Latitude  17°  53'.  Finished  to-day,  I  may  say,  our  whole 
stock  of  provisions.*  We  have  only  left  a  lower  end  of  a  ham-bone, 
with  some  of  the  outer  rind  and  skin  on.  In  regard  to  the  water,  how 
ever,  I  think  we  have  got  ten  days'  supply  at  our  present  rate  of  allow 
ance.  This,  with  what  nourishment  we  can  get  from  boot-legs  and  such 
chewable  matter,  we  hope  will  enable  us  to  weather  it  out  till  we  get  to 
the  Sandwich  Islands,  or,  sailing  in  the  meantime  in  the  track  of  vessels 
thither  bound,  be  picked  up.  My  hope  is  ir  the  latter,  for  in  all  human 
probability  I  cannot  stand  the  other.  Still  we  have  been  marvelously 
protected,  and  God,  I  hope,  will  preserve  u  all  in  his  own  good  time 
and  way.  The  men  are  getting  weaker,  but  are  still  quiet  and  orderly. 

Sunday,  June  10.  Latitude  18°  40',  longitude  142°  34'.  A  pretty 
good  night  last  night,  with  some  wettings,  and  again  another  beautiful 
Sunday.  I  cannot  but  think  how  we  should  all  enjoy  it  at  home,  and 
what  a  contrast  is  here  !  How  terrible  their  suspense  must  begin  to  be  ! 
God  grant  that  it  may  be  relieved  before  very  long,  and  he  certainly 
seems  to  be  with  us  in  everything  we  do,  and  has  preserved  this  boat 
miraculously;  for  since  we  left  the  ship  we  have  sailed  considerably  over 
three  thousand  miles,  which,  taking  into  consideration  our  meager  stock 
of  provisions,  is  almost  unprecedented.  As  yet  I  do  not  feel  the  stint 
of  food  so  much  as  I  do  that  of  water.  Even  Henry,  who  is  naturally 
a  good  water-drinker,  can  save  half  of  his  allowance  from  time  to  time, 
when  I  cannot.  My  diseased  throat  may  have  something  to  do  with 
that,  however. 

Nothing  is  now  left  which  by  any  flattery  can  be 
called  food.       But  they  must  manage  somehow  for 

*  Six  days  to  sail  yet,  nevertheless. —  M.  T. 
8 


H4  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

five  days  more,  for  at  noon  they  have  still  eight 
hundred  miles  to  go.  It  is  a  race  for  life  now. 

This  is  no  time  for  comments  or  other  interrup 
tions  from  me  —  every  moment  is  valuable.  I  will 
take  up  the  boy  brother's  diary  at  this  point,  and 
clear  the  seas  before  it  and  let  it  fly. 

HENRY  FERGUSON'S  LOG. 

Sunday,  Vfune  10.  Our  ham-bone  has  given  us  a  taste  of  food  to-day, 
and  we  have  got  left  a  little  meat  and  the  remainder  of  the  bone  for  to 
morrow.  Certainly  never  was  there  such  a  sweet  knuckle-bone,  or  one 

that  was  po  thoroughly  appreciated I  do  not  know  that  I  feel 

any  wor^e  than  I  did  last  Sunday,  notwithstanding  the  reduction  of  diet : 
and  I  trust  that  we  may  all  have  strength  given  us  to  sustain  the  suffer 
ings  and  hardships  of  the  coming  week.  We  estimate  that  we  are  within 
seven  hundred  miles  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  that  our  average, 
daily,  is  somewhat  over  a  hundred  miles,  so  that  our  hopes  have  some 
foundation  in  reason.  Heaven  send  we  may  all  live  to  see  land ! 

June  1 1 .  Ate  the  meat  and  rind  of  our  ham-bone,  and  have  the  bone 
and  the  greasy  cloth  from  around  the  ham  left  to  eat  to-morrow.  God 
send  us  birds  or  fish,  and  let  us  not  perish  of  hunger,  or  be  brought  to 
the  dreadful  alternative  of  feeding  on  human  flesh  !  As  I  feel  now,  I  do 
not  think  anything  could  persuade  me;  but  you  cannot  tell  what  you 
will  do  when  you  are  reduced  by  hunger  and  your  mind  wandering.  I 
hope  and  pray  we  can  make  out  to  reach  the  islands  before  we  get  to 
this  strait;  but  we  have  one  or  two  desperate  men  aboard,  though  they 
are  quiet  enough  now.  //  is  my  firm  trust  and  belief  that  we  are  going 
to  be  saved. 

All  food  gone. —  Captain's  Log.* 

June  12.  Stiff  breeze,  and  we  are  fairly  flying  —  dead  ahead  of  it  — 
and  toward  the  islands.  Good  hope,  but  the  prospects  of  hunger  are 
awful.  Ate  ham-bone  to-day.  It  is  the  captain's  birthday;  he  is  fifty- 
four  years  old. 

*  It  was  at  this  time  discovered  that  the  crazed  sailors  had  gotten  the 
delusion  that  the  captain  had  a  million  dollars  in  gold  concealed  aft, 
and  they  were  conspiring  to  kill  him  and  the  two  passengers  and  seize 
it.— M.  T. 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  115 

June  13.  The  ham-rags  are  not  quite  all  gone  yet,  and  the  boot 
legs,  we  find,  are  very  palatable  after  we  get  the  salt  out  of  them.  A 
little  smoke,  I  think,  does  some  little  good;  but  I  don't  know. 

June  14.  Hunger  does  not  pain  us  much,  but  we  are  dreadfully 
weak.  Our  water  is  getting  frightfully  low.  God  grant  we  may  see 
land  soon !  Nothing  to  cat,  but  feel  better  than  I  did  yesterday. 
Toward  evening  saw  a  magnificent  rainbow  —  the  first  we  had  seen. 
Captain  said,  "Cheer  up,  boys;  it's  a  prophecy  —  its  the  bow  of 
promise  /" 

June  15.  God  be  forever  praised  for  his  infinite  mercy!  LAND  IN 
SIGHT  !  Rapidly  neared  it  and  soon  were  sure  of  it.  ...  Two 
noble  Kanakas  swam  out  and  took  the  boat  ashore.  We  were  joyfully, 
received  by  two  white  men  —  Mr.  Jones  and  his  steward  Charley  —  and 
a  crowd  of  native  men,  women,  and  children.  They  treated  us  splen 
didly  —  aided  us,  and  carried  us  up  the  bank,  and  brought  us  water, 
poi,  bananas,  and  green  cocoanuts;  but  the  white  men  took  care  of  us 
and  prevented  those  who  would  have  eaten  too  much  from  doing  so. 
Everybody  overjoyed  to  see  us,  and  all  sympathy  expressed  in  faces, 
deeds,  and  words.  We  were  then  helped  up  to  the  house;  and  help 
we  needed.  Mr.  Jones  and  Charley  are  the  only  white  men  here. 
Treated  us  splendidly.  Gave  us  first  about  a  teaspoonful  of  spirits  in 
water,  and  then  to  each  a  cup  of  warm  tea,  with  a  little  bread.  Takes 
every  care  of  us.  Gave  us  later  another  cup  of  tea,  and  bread  the  same, 
and  then  let  us  go  to  rest.  //  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  .  .  .  God 
in  his  mercy  has  heard  our  prayer.  .  .  .  Everybody  is  so  kind.  Words 
cannot  tell. 

June  1 6.  Mr.  Jones  gave  us  a  delightful  bed,  and  we  surely  had  a 
good  night's  rest;  but  not  sleep  —  we  were  too  happy  to  sleep;  would 
keep  the  reality  and  not  let  it  turn  to  a  delusion  —  dreaded  that  we 
might  wake  up  and  find  ourselves  in  the  boat  again. 

It  is  an  amazing  adventure.  There  is  nothing  of 
its  sort  in  history  that  surpasses  it  in  impossibilities 
made  possible.  In  one  extraordinary  detail  —  the 
survival  of  every  person  in  the  boat  —  it  probably 
stands  alone  in  the  history  of  adventures  of  its  kind. 
Usually  merely  a  part  of  a  boat's  company  survive 


n6  My  D£but  as  a  Literary  Person 

—  officers,  mainly,  and  other  educated  and  tenderly 
reared  men,  unused  to  hardship  and  heavy  labor; 
the  untrained,  roughly  reared  hard  workers  suc 
cumb.  But  in  this  case  even  the  rudest  and  rough 
est  stood  the  privations  and  .miseries  of  the  voyage 
almost  as  well  as  did  the  college-bred  young  brothers 
and  the  captain.  I  mean,  physically.  The  minds 
of  most  of  the  sailors  broke  down  in  the  fourth  week 
and  went  to  temporary  ruin,  but  physically  the  en 
durance  exhibited  was  astonishing.  Those  men  did 
not  survive  by  any  merit  of  their  own,  of  course, 
but  by  merit  of  the  character  and  intelligence  of  the 
captain;  they  lived  by  the  mastery  of  his  spirit. 
Without  him  they  would  have  been  children  without 
a  nurse ;  they  would  have  exhausted  their  provisions 
in  a  week,  and  their  pluck  would  not  have  lasted 
even  as  long  as  the  provisions. 

The  boat  came  near  to  being  wrecked  at  the  last. 
As  it  approached  the  shore  the  sail  was  let  go,  and 
came  down  with  a  run ;  then  the  captain  saw  that  he 
was  drifting  swiftly  toward  an  ugly  reef,  and  an 
effort  was  made  to  hoist  the  sail  again :  but  it  could 
not  be  done;  the  men's  strength  was  wholly  ex 
hausted;  they  could  not  even  pull  an  oar.  They 
were  helpless,  and  death  imminent.  It  was  then 
that  they  were  discovered  by  the  two  Kanakas  who 
achieved  the  rescue.  They  swam  out  and  manned 
the  boat  and  piloted  her  through  a  narrow  and 
hardly  noticeable  break  in  the  reef  —  the  only  break 
in  it  in  a  stretch  of  thirty-five  miles !  The  spot 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  1 1 7 

where  the  landing  was  made  was  the  only  one  in 
that  stretch  where  footing  could  have  been  found  on 
the  shore;  everywhere  else  precipices  came  sheer 
down  into  forty  fathoms  of  water.  Also,  in  all  that 
stretch  this  was  the  only  spot  where  anybody  lived. 

Within  ten  days  after  the  landing  all  the  men  but 
one  were  up  and  creeping  about.  Properly,  they 
ought  to  have  killed  themselves  with  the  "  food  "  of 
the  last  few  days  —  some  of  them,  at  any  rate  — 
men  who  had  freighted  their  stomachs  with  strips  of 
leather  from  old  boots  and  with  chips  from  the 
butter-cask ;  a  freightage  which  they  did  not  get  rid 
of  by  digestion,  but  by  other  means.  The  captain 
and  the  two  passengers  did  not  eat  strips  and  chips, 
as  the  sailors  did,  but  scraped  the  boot-leather  and 
the  wood,  and  made  a  pulp  of  the  scrapings  by 
moistening  them  with  water.  The  third  mate  told 
me  that  the  boots  were  old  and  full  of  holes ;  then 
added  thoughtfully,  '  *  but  the  holes  digested  the 
best."  Speaking  of  digestion,  here  is  a  remarkable 
thing,  and  worth  noting:  during  this  strange  voyage, 
and  for  a  while  afterward  on  shore,  the  bowels  of 
some  of  the  men  virtually  ceased  from  their  func 
tions  ;  in  some  cases  there  was  no  action  for  twenty 
and  thirty  days,  and  in  one  case  for  forty-four ! 
Sleeping  also  came  to  be  rare.  Yet  the  men  did 
very  well  without  it.  During  many  days  the  captain 
did  not  sleep  at  all  —  twenty-one,  I  think,  on  one 
stretch. 

When  the  landing  was  made,   all  the  men  were 


n8  My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person 

successfully  protected  from  overeating  except  the 
'  Portyghee  "  ;  he  escaped  the  watch  and  ate  an  in 
credible  number  of  bananas :  a  hundred  and  fifty- 
two,  the  third  mate  said,  but  this  was  undoubtedly 
an  exaggeration ;  I  think  it  was  a  hundred  and 
fifty-one.  He  was  already  nearly  full  of  leather; 
it  was  hanging  out  of  his  ears.  (I  do  not  state  this 
on  the  third  mate's  authority,  for  we  have  seen  what 
sort  of  person  he  was;  I  state  it  on  my  own.) 
The  "Portyghee"  ought  to  have  died,  of  course, 
and  even  now  it  seems  a  pity  that  he  did  n't;  but  he 
got  well,  and  as  early  as  any  of  them ;  and  all  full  of 
leather,  too,  the  way  he  was,  and  butter-timber  and 
handkerchiefs  and  bananas.  Some  of  the  men  did 
eat  handkerchiefs  in  those  last  days,  also  socks ; 
and  he  was  one  of  them. 

It  is  to  the  credit  of  the  men  that  they  did  not  kill 
the  rooster  that  crowed  so  gallantly  mornings.  He 
lived  eighteen  days,  and  then  stood  up  and 
stretched  his  neck  and  made  a  brave,  weak  effort 
to  do  his  duty  once  more,  and  died  in  the  act.  It 
is  a  picturesque  detail;  and  so  is  that  rainbow,  too, 
—  the  only  one  seen  in  the  forty- three  days, —  rais 
ing  its  triumphal  arch  in  the  skies  for  the  sturdy 
fighters  to  sail  under  to  victory  and  rescue. 

With  ten  days'  provisions  Captain  Josiah  Mitchell 
performed  this  memorable  voyage  of  forty-three 
days  and  eight  hours  in  an  open  boat,  sailing  four 
thousand  miles  in  reality  and  thirty-three  hundred 
and  sixty  by  direct  courses,  and  brought  every  man 


My  Debut  as  a  Literary  Person  119 

safe  to  land.  A  bright,  simple-hearted,  unassuming, 
plucky,  and  most  companionable  man.  I  walked 
the  deck  with  him  twenty-eight  days, —  when  I  was 
not  copying  diaries, —  and  I  remember  him  with 
reverent  honor.  If  he  is  alive  he  is  eighty-six  years 
old  now. 

If  I  remember  rightly,  Samuel  Ferguson  died 
soon  after  we  reached  San  Francisco.  I  do  not 
think  he  lived  to  see  his  home  again ;  his  disease 
had  been  seriously  aggravated  by  his  hardships. 

For  a  time  it  was  hoped  that  the  two  quarter-boats 
would  presently  be  heard  of,  but  this  hope  suffered 
disappointment.  They  went  down  with  all  on  board, 
no  doubt,  not  even  sparing  that  knightly  chief 
mate. 

The  authors  of  the  diaries  allowed  me  to  copy 
them  exactly  as  they  were  written,  and  the  extracts 
that  I  have  given  are  without  any  smoothing  over 
or  revision.  These  diaries  are  finely  modest  and 
unaffected,  and  with  unconscious  and  unintentional 
art  they  rise  toward  the  climax  with  graduated  and 
gathering  force  and  swing  and  dramatic  intensity; 
they  sweep  you  along  with  a  cumulative  rush,  and 
when  the  cry  rings  out  at  last,  "Land  in  sight!  " 
your  heart  is  in  your  mouth,  and  for  a  moment  you 
think  it  is  you  that  have  been  saved.  The  last  two 
paragraphs  are  not  improvable  by  anybody's  art; 
they  are  literary  gold ;  and  their  very  pauses  and 
uncompleted  sentences  have  in  them  an  eloquence 
not  reachable  by  any  words. 


JB    I/Kim  Hi  i  Lnsn 


rfisrjst  ic  tia  sn»rr  $  ITD? 

Of    thi:    SIT!    "ferr    tintt    ^rrm-r    OtCSTT.       2     iffii* 


HI      tt     ssr^i    ir 
liti-r 


ir  z&zzjvi  in- 


stanf  nmsmr  irt^r  litt  p'ji 


^rrx    t~r 
i/  S2Ft  i..  imc 

inr  l 

c  ittr  f  ITTL 

^.         it  myr^rt  HE       e      isirrns  TJi  ...  iiiri: 
t>ur  'ZL&izgaS;  itc*  urarr  -cirrs..   ~*T*    a'.  ii',«t 
iw  imt  s  ntniiiii^  ti  nt. 


Ife  t^tst  V>-V2>j  wt  ^i^iuf  i«rr,  :"  J'vyr  titm^ 
*CDC  IccJt  it  ic 


THE  ESUIMAU  MAIDEN'S  ROMANCE 


\ 
I 


ES.  ^  aibctxt  my  :     .  :  -  :  - 

ycc  WCCLX:  like  to  kniew.  Mr.  Twain.  r~  sire 
safe.  ::s  her  sort  verce.  ami  letting  ber  icosest  eyes 
r?<t  ptacfcly  srca  3ty  face.  k*  fee  ±  2?  VTKJ  aad  giocd 
of  vx?t£  re  like  2X-  i2c  care  tc  oew  ^bctrr  me." 

y  scraping;  b 
rser  cieek^  vicrr  i  s 

^:  :c  r>  i^r  rxr  sleeve,  wane  soe  -waccfre 
n   :>:v^_  >   ^v-;-^     :-    -" 


tie   sky  i£cd  wash:  trte  Icnely  smTw-jtani  ami   tfte 
reracpiiec  xecerp?  witrt  the  rici  fees  of  trte  prisn^  2 
*cie  re  JLTO^SC  :accienoie  sctemicir  ami  beauty; 
jcv  >oe  so»?ck  ?dE  3er  r^rerie  ami  orepared  tcr 
26*  true  iomcie  Itttie  tetiary  I  T.TI^  isketi  fbr> 
sectiec  ierseif  c^mD^rtadiy  ?tt  tfte  bicck  cf  ace 
ve  tner^-  usias:  i?  i  scCj^  ami  I  Tr.nte  reac    ta 


creafiw^     I  speak  fc7?ot  tae 
view.       Otfeers    -vjuld    oir^e 
ier  i  trtiie  ^er^unitp.     S&e-  was  just  twraty 
ye  jar?  *.Mi.  oaac  was  rteiti  te  be-  c^r  sir  tm»  aicst  be- 
gnri  ia  aer  tr^e.     E^rea  ao^r.  at  t&e 


122  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

air,  with  her  cumbersome  and  shapeless  fur  coat  and 
trousers  and  boots  and  vast  hood,  the  beauty  of  her 
face  at  least  was  apparent ;  but  her  figure  had  to  be 
taken  on  trust.  Among  all  the  guests  who  came 
and  went,  I  had  seen  no  girl  at  her  father's  hospi 
table  trough  who  could  be  called  her  equal.  Yet  she 
was  not  spoiled.  She  was  sweet  and  natural  and 
sincere,  and  if  she  was  aware  that  she  was  a  belle, 
there  was  nothing  about  her  ways  to  show  that  she 
possessed  that  knowledge. 

She  had  been  my  daily  comrade  for  a  week  now, 
and  the  better  I  knew  her  the  better  I  liked  her. 
She  had  been  tenderly  and  carefully  brought  up, 
in  an  atmosphere  of  singularly  rare  refinement  for 
the  polar  regions,  for  her  father  was  the  most  im 
portant  man  of  his  tribe  and  ranked  at  the  top  of 
Esquimau  cultivation.  I  made  long  dog-sledge  trips 
across  the  mighty  ice  floes  with  Lasca, —  that  was 
her  name, —  and  found  her  company  always  pleasant 
and  her  conversation  agreeable.  I  went  fishing  with 
her,  but  not  in  her  perilous  boat :  I  merely  followed 
along  on  the  ice  and  watched  her  strike  her  game 
with  her  fatally  accurate  spear.  We  went  sealing 
together ;  several  times  I  stood  by  while  she  and  the 
family  dug  blubber  from  a  stranded  whale,  and  once 
I  went  part  of  the  way  when  she  was  hunting  a  bear, 
but  turned  back  before  the  finish,  because  at  bottom 
I  am  afraid  of  bears. 

However,  she  was  ready  to  begin  her  story  now, 
and  this  is  what  she  said : 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  123 

"  Our  tribe  had  always  been  used  to  wander  about 
from  place  to  place  over  the  frozen  seas,  like  the 
other  tribes,  but  my  father  got  tired  of  that  two 
years  ago,  and  built  this  great  mansion  of  frozen 
snow-blocks,  — look  at  it;  it  is  seven  feet  high  and 
three  or  four  times  as  long  as  any  of  the  others, — 
and  here  we  have  stayed  ever  since.  He  was  very 
proud  of  his  house,  and  that  was  reasonable;  for  if 
you  have  examined  it  with  care  you  must  have 
noticed  how  much  finer  and  completer  it  is  than 
houses  usually  are.  But  if  you  have  not,  you  must, 
for  you  will  find  it  has  luxurious  appointments  that 
are  quite  beyond  the  common.  For  instance,  in 
that  end  of  it  which  you  have  called  the  '  parlor,' 
the  raised  platform  for  the  accommodation  of  guests 
and  the  family  at  meals  is  the  largest  you  have  ever 
seen  in  any  house  —  is  it  not  so?  " 

'Yes,  you  are  quite  right,  Lasca;  it  is  the 
largest;  we  have  nothing  resembling  it  in  even  the 
finest  houses  in  the  United  States."  This  admis 
sion  made  her  eyes  sparkle  with  pride  and  pleasure. 
I  noted  that,  and  took  my  cue. 

"  I  thought  it  must  have  surprised  you/'  she  said. 
"  And  another  thing:  it  is  bedded  far  deeper  in  furs 
than  is  usual;  all  kinds  of  furs  —  seal,  sea-otter, 
silver-gray  fox,  bear,  marten,  sable  —  every  kind  of 
fur  in  profusion ;  and  the  same  with  the  ice-block 
sleeping-benches  along  the  walls,  which  you  call 
'beds.'  Are  your  platforms  and  sleeping-benches 
better  provided  at  home  ?  ' ' 


124  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

"  Indeed,  they  are  not,  Lasca  —  they  do  not 
begin  to  be."  That  pleased  her  again.  All  she  was 
thinking  of  was  the  number  of  furs  her  aesthetic 
father  took  the  trouble  to  keep  on  hand,  not  their 
value.  I  could  have  told  her  that  those  masses  of 
rich  furs  constituted  wealth, —  or  would  in  my  coun 
try, —  but  she  would  not  have  understood  that;  those 
were  not  the  kind  of  things  that  ranked  as  riches 
with  her  people.  I  could  have  told  her  that  the 
clothes  she  had  on,  or  the  every-day  clothes  of  the 
commonest  person  about  her,  were  worth  twelve  or 
fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  that  I  was  not  acquainted 
with  anybody  at  home  who  wore  twelve-hundred-dol 
lar  toilets  to  go  fishing  in ;  but  she  would  not  have 
understood  it,  so  I  said  nothing.  She  resumed : 

"And  then  the  slop-tubs.  We  have  two  in  the 
parlor,  and  two  in  the  rest  of  the  house.  It  is  very 
seldom  that  one  has  two  in  the  parlor.  Have  you 
two  in  the  parlor  at  home?  " 

The  memory  of  those  tubs  made  me  gasp,  but  I 
recovered  myself  before  she  noticed,  and  said  with 
effusion : 

11  Why,  Lasca,  it  is  a  shame  of  me  to  expose  my 
country,  and  you  must  not  let  it  go  further,  for  I 
am  speaking  to  you  in  confidence ;  but  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  that  not  even  the  richest  man  in 
the  city  of  New  York  has  two  slop-tubs  in  his  draw 
ing-room." 

She  clapped  her  fur-clad  hands  in  innocent  de 
light,  and  exclaimed : 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  125 

"  Oh,  but  you  cannot  mean  it,  you  cannot  mean 
it!" 

"Indeed,  I  am  in  earnest,  dear.  There  is  Van- 
derbilt.  Vanderbilt  is  almost  the  richest  man  in  the 
whole  world.  Now,  if  I  were  on  my  dying  bed,  I 
could  say  to  you  that  not  even  he  has  two  in  his 
drawing-room.  Why,  he  hasn't  even  one  —  I  wish 
I  may  die  in  my  tracks  if  it  isn't  true." 

Her  lovely  eyes  stood  wide  with  amazement,  and 
she  said,  slowly,  and  with  a  sort  of  awe  in  her  voice: 

* '  How  strange  —  how  incredible  —  one  is  not  able 
to  realize  it.  Is  he  penurious?  " 

"No  —  it  isn't  that.  It  isn't  the  expense  he 
minds,  but  —  er  —  well,  you  know,  it  would  look 
like  showing  off.  Yes,  that  is  it,  that  is  the  idea; 
he  is  a  plain  man  in  his  way,  and  shrinks  from 
display." 

"Why,  that  humility  is  right  enough."  said 
Lasca,  "  if  one  does  not  carry  it  too  far  —  but  what 
does  the  place  look  like  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  necessarily  it  looks  pretty  barren  and  un 
finished,  but —  " 

' '  I  should  think  so  !  I  never  heard  anything  like 
it.  Is  it  a  fine  house  —  that  is,  otherwise?  " 

"  Pretty  fine,  yes.     It  is  very  well  thought  of." 

The  girl  was  silent  awhile,  and  sat  dreamily  gnaw 
ing  a  candle-end,  apparently  trying  to  think  the  thing 
out.  At  last  she  gave  her  head  a  little  toss  and 
spoke  out  her  opinion  with  decision : 

"Well,  to  my  mind  there's  a  breed  of  humility 


126  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

which  is  itself  a  species  of  showing-off,  when  you 
get  down  to  the  marrow  of  it;  and  when  a  man  is 
able  to  afford  two  slop-tubs  in  his  parlor,  and  don't 
do  it,  it  may  be  that  he  is  truly  humble-minded,  but 
it's  a  hundred  times  more  likely  that  he  is  just  trying 
to  strike  the  public  eye.  In  my  judgment,  your 
Mr.  Vanderbilt  knows  what  he  is  about." 

I  tried  to  modify  this  verdict,  feeling  that  a  double 
slop-tub  standard  was  not  a  fair  one  to  try  every 
body  by,  although  a  sound  enough  one  in  its  own 
habitat;  but  the  girl's  head  was  set,  and  she  was  not 
to  be  persuaded.  Presently  she  said  : 

"Do  the  rich  people,  with  you,  have  as  good 
sleeping-benches  as  ours,  and  made  out  of  as  nice 
broad  ice-blocks  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  they  are  pretty  good  —  good  enough  — 
but  they  are  not  made  of  ice-blocks." 

"  I  want  to  know !  Why  aren't  they  made  of  ice- 
blocks?" 

I  explained  the  difficulties  in  the  way,  and  the  ex- 
pensiveness  of  ice  in  a  country  where  you  have  to 
keep  a  sharp  eye  on  your  ice  man  or  your  ice  bill 
will  weigh  more  than  your  ice.  Then  she  cried  out: 

"  Dear  me,  do  you  buy  your  ice?  " 

"  We  most  surely  do,  dear." 

She  burst  into  a  gale  of  guileless  laughter,  and  said  : 

"Oh,  I  never  heard  of  anything  so  silly!  My, 
there's  plenty  of  it  —  it  isn't  worth  anything.  Why, 
there  is  a  hundred  miles  of  it  in  sight,  right  now.  I 
wouldn't  give  a  fish  bladder  for  the  whole  of  it." 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  127 

"  Well,  it's  because  you  don't  know  how  to  value 
it,  you  little  provincial  muggins.  If  you  had  it  in 
New  York  in  midsummer,  you  could  buy  all  the 
whales  in  the  market  with  it." 

She  looked  at  me  doubtfully,  and  said : 

"  Are  you  speaking  true?  " 

"  Absolutely.      I  take  my  oath  to  it." 

This  made  her  thoughtful.  Presently  she  said, 
with  a  little  sigh : 

"  I  wish  /could  live  there." 

I  had  merely  meant  to  furnish  her  a  standard  of 
values  which  she  could  understand ;  but  my  pur 
pose  had  miscarried.  I  had  only  given  her  the  im 
pression  that  whales  were  cheap  and  plenty  in  New 
York,  and  set  her  mouth  to  watering  for  them.  It 
seemed  best  to  try  to  mitigate  the  evil  which  I  had 
done,  so  I  said : 

"But  you  wouldn't  care  for  whale  meat  if  you 
lived  there.  Nobody  does." 

"What!" 

"Indeed  they  don't." 

"  Why  don't  they?" 

"  Wel-1-1,  I  hardly  know.  It's  prejudice,  I  think. 
Yes,  that  is  it  —  just  prejudice.  I  reckon  some 
body  that  hadn't  anything  better  to  do  started  a  pre 
judice  against  it,  some  time  or  other,  and  once  you 
get  a  caprice  like  that  fairly  going,  you  know,  it  will 
last  no  end  of  time." 

'That  is  true — perfectly    true,"    said    the    girl, 
reflectively.     "  Like  our  prejudice  against  soap,  here 


128  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

—  our  tribes  had  a  prejudice  against  soap  at  first, 
you  know." 

I  glanced  at  her  to  see  if  she  was  in  earnest.  Evi 
dently  she  was.  I  hesitated,  then  said,  cautiously: 

"But  pardon  me.  They  had  a  prejudice  against 
soap  ?  Had  ?  "  —  with  falling  inflection. 

'  Yes  —  but  that  was  only  at  first ;   nobody  would 
eat  it." 

"Oh,  —  I  understand.  I  didn't  get  your  idea 
before." 

She  resumed : 

' '  It  was  just  a  prejudice.  The  first  time  soap  came 
here  from  the  foreigners,  nobody  liked  it;  but  as 
soon  as  it  got  to  be  fashionable,  everybody  liked  it, 
and  now  everybody  has  it  that  can  afford  it.  Are 
you  fond  of  it?  " 

1  Yes,  indeed !     I  should  die  if  I  couldn't  have  it 

—  especially  here.      Do  you  like  it?  " 

"  I  just  adore  it !      Do  you  like  candles?  " 

"  I  regard  them  as  an  absolute  necessity.  Are 
you  fond  of  them  ?  ' ' 

Her  eyes  fairly  danced,  and  she  exclaimed: 

"Oh!  Don't  mention  it!  Candles!  —  and 
soap!  —  " 

"  And  fish-interiors  !  —  " 

"And  train-oil!  —  " 

"And  slush!  —  " 

"  And  whale-blubber !  —  " 

"And  carrion!  and  sour-krout !  and  beeswax! 
and  tar  !  and  turpentine  !  and  molasses  !  and  —  " 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  129 

"  Don't  —  oh,  don't  —  I  shall  expire  with 
ecstasy  !  —  " 

"  And  then  serve  it  all  up  in  a  slush-bucket,  and 
invite  the  neighbors  and  sail  in!  " 

But  this  vision  of  an  ideal  feast  was  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  swooned  away,  poor  thing.  I  rubbed 
snow  in  her  face  and  brought  her  to,  and  after  a 
while  got  her  excitement  cooled  down.  By  and  by 
she  drifted  into  her  story  again : 

"So  we  began  to  live  here,  in  the  fine  house. 
But  I  was  not  happy.  The  reason  was  this :  I  was 
born  for  love ;  for  me  there  could  be  no  true  happi 
ness  without  it.  I  wanted  to  be  loved  for  myself 
alone.  I  wanted  an  idol,  and  I  wanted  to  be  my 
idol's  idol;  nothing  less  than  mutual  idolatry  would 
satisfy  my  fervent  nature.  I  had  suitors  in  plenty 
—  in  over-plenty,  indeed — but  in  each  and  every 
case  they  had  a  fatal  defect;  sooner  or  later  I  dis 
covered  that  defect  —  not  one  of  them  failed  to  be 
tray  it  —  it  was  not  me  they  wanted,  but  my  wealth." 

4 'Your  wealth?" 

1  Yes ;  for  my  father  is  much  the  richest  man  in 
this  tribe  —  or  in  any  tribe  in  these  regions." 

I  wondered  what  her  father's  wealth  consisted  of. 
It  couldn't  be  the  house  —  anybody  could  build 
its  mate.  It  couldn't  be  the  furs  —  they  were  not 
valued.  It  couldn't  be  the  sledge,  the  dogs,  the 
harpoons,  the  boat,  the  bone  fish-hooks  and  needles, 
and  such  things  —  no,  these  were  not  wealth.  Then 
what  could  it  be  that  made  this  man  so  rich  and 


13°  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

brought  this  swarm  of  sordid  suitors  to  his  house? 
It  seemed  to  me,  finally,  that  the  best  way  to  find 
out  would  be  to  ask.  So  I  did  it.  The  girl  was  so 
manifestly  gratified  by  the  question  that  I  saw  she 
had  been  aching  to  have  me  ask  it.  She  was  suffer 
ing  fully  as  much  to  tell  as  I  was  to  know.  She 
snuggled  confidentially  up  to  me  and  said : 

"  Guess  how  much  he  is  worth  —  you  never  can  !  " 

I  pretended  to  consider  the  matter  deeply,  she 
watching  my  anxious  and  laboring  countenance 
with  a  devouring  and  delighted  interest;  and  when, 
at  last,  I  gave  it  up  and  begged  her  to  appease  my 
longing  by  telling  me  herself  how  much  this  polar 
Vanderbilt  was  worth,  she  put  her  mouth  close  to 
my  ear  and  whispered,  impressively: 

"  Twenty-two  fish-hooks  —  not  bone,  but  foreign 
—  made  out  of  real  iron  !  ' ' 

Then  she  sprang  back  dramatically,  to  observe  the 
effect.  I  did  my  level  best  not  to  disappoint  her. 

I  turned  pale  and  murmured : 

"Great  Scott!" 

"  It's  as  true  as  you  live,  Mr.  Twain  !  " 

"  Lasca,  you  are  deceiving  me  —  you  cannot  mean 
it." 

She  was  frightened  and  troubled.     She  exclaimed  : 

"Mr.  Twain,  every  word  of  it  is  true  —  every 
word.  You  believe  me  —  you  do  believe  me,  now 
don't  you?  Say  you  believe  me  —  do  say  you  be 
lieve  me !  ' ' 

"I  —  well,  yes,   I  do  —  I  am  trying  to.     But  it 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  U1 

was  all  so  sudden.  So  sudden  and  prostrating. 
You  shouldn't  do  such  a  thing  in  that  sudden  way. 
It—" 

44  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  !      If  I  had  only  thought —  " 

"Well,  it's  all  right,  and  I  don't  blame  you  any 
more,  for  you  are  young  and  thoughtless,  and  of 
course  you  couldn't  foresee  what  an  effect — " 

14  But  oh,  dear,  I  ought  certainly  to  have  known 
better.     Why — " 

4  You  see,  Lasca,  if  you  had  said  five  or  six 
hooks,  to  start  with,  and  then  gradually  — 

44  Oh,  I  see,  I  see  —  then  gradually  added  one, 
and  then  two,  and  then  —  ah,  why  couldn't  I  have 
thought  of  that!  " 

''Never  mind,  child,  it's  all  right  —  I  am  better 
now  —  I  shall  be  over  it  in  a  little  while.  But — to 
spring  the  whole  twenty-two  on  a  person  unprepared 
and  not  very  strong  anyway —  " 

44  Oh,  it  was  a  crime  !  But  you  forgive  me  —  say 
you  forgive  me.  Do  !  " 

After  harvesting  a  good  deal  of  very  pleasant 
coaxing  and  petting  and  persuading,  I  forgave  her 
and  she  was  happy  again,  and  by  and  by  she  got 
under  way  with  her  narrative  once  more.  I  pres 
ently  discovered  that  the  family  treasury  contained 
still  another  feature  —  a  jewel  of  some  sort,  appar 
ently  —  and  that  she  was  trying  to  get  around  speak 
ing  squarely  about  it,  lest  I  get  paralyzed  again. 
But  I  wanted  to  know  about  that  thing,  too,  and 
urged  her  to  tell  me  what  it  was.  She  was  afraid. 


132  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

But  I  insisted,  and  said  I  would  brace  myself  this 
time  and  be  prepared,  then  the  shock  would  not  hurt 
me.  She  was  full  of  misgivings,  but  the  temptation 
to  reveal  that  marvel  to  me  and  enjoy  my  astonish 
ment  and  admiration  was  too  strong  for  her,  and  she 
confessed  that  she  had  it  on  her  person,  and  said 
that  if  I  was  sure  I  was  prepared  —  and  so  on  and 
so  on  —  and  with  that  she  reached  into  her  bosom 
and  brought  out  a  battered  square  of  brass,  watch 
ing  my  eye  anxiously  the  while.  I  fell  over  against 
her  in  a  quite  well-acted  faint,  which  delighted  her 
heart  and  nearly  frightened  it  out  of  her,  too,  at  the 
same  time.  When  I  came  to  and  got  calm,  she  was 
eager  to  know  what  I  thought  of  her  jewel. 

44  What  do  I  think  of  it?  I  think  it  is  the  most 
exquisite  thing  I  ever  saw." 

14  Do  you  really?  How  nice  of  you  to  say  that! 
But  it  is  a  love,  now  isn't  it?  " 

44  Well,  I  should  say  so!  I'd  rather  own  it  than 
the  equator." 

44  I  thought  you  would  admire  it,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  it  is  so  lovely.  And  there  isn't  another  one  in 
all  these  latitudes.  People  have  come  all  the  way 
from  the  Open  Polar  Sea  to  look  at  it.  Did  you 
ever  see  one  before?  " 

I  said  no,  this  was  the  first  one  I  had  ever  seen. 
It  cost  me  a  pang  to  tell  that  generous  lie,  for  I  had 
seen  a  million  of  them  in  my  time,  this  humble  jewel 
of  hers  being  nothing  but  a  battered  old  New  York 
Central  baggage  check. 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  133 

"Land!"  said  I,  "you  don't  go  about  with  it 
on  your  person  this  way,  alone  and  with  no  protec 
tion,  not  even  a  dog?  " 

"Ssh!  not  so  loud,"  she  said.  "Nobody 
knows  I  carry  it  with  me.  They  think  it  is  in 
papa's  treasury.  That  is  where  it  generally  is." 

"  Where  is  the  treasury?  " 

It  was  a  blunt  question,  and  for  a  moment  she 
looked  startled  and  a  little  suspicious,  but  I  said : 

11  Oh,  come,  don't  you  be  afraid  about  me.  At 
home  we  have  seventy  millions  of  people,  and 
although  I  say  it  myself  that  shouldn't,  there  is  not 
one  person  among  them  all  but  would  trust  me  with 
untold  fish-hooks." 

This  reassured  her,  and  she  told  me  where  the 
hooks  were  hidden  in  the  house.  Then  she  wandered 
from  her  course  to  brag  a  little  about  the  size  of  the 
sheets  of  transparent  ice  that  formed  the  windows  of 
the  mansion,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  seen  their 
like  at  home,  and  I  came  right  out  frankly  and  con 
fessed  that  I  hadn't,  which  pleased  her  more  than 
she  could  find  words  to  dress  her  gratification  in.  It 
was  so  easy  to  please  her,  and  such  a  pleasure  to  do 
it,  that  I  went  on  and  said : 

"Ah,  Lasca,  you  are  a  fortunate  girl! — this 
beautiful  house,  this  dainty  jewel,  that  rich  treasure, 
all  this  elegant  snow,  and  sumptuous  icebergs  and 
limitless  sterility,  and  public  bears  and  walruses,  and 
noble  freedom  and  largeness,  and  everybody's  admir 
ing  eyes  upon  you,  and  everybody's  homage  and  re- 


134  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

spect  at  your  command  without  the  asking;  young, 
rich,  beautiful,  sought,  courted,  envied,  not  a  re 
quirement  unsatisfied,  not  a  desire  ungratified,  noth 
ing  to  wish  for  that  you  cannot  have  —  it  is  immeas 
urable  good  fortune  !  I  have  seen  myriads  of  girls, 
but  none  of  whom  these  extraordinary  things  could 
be  truthfully  said  but  you  alone.  And  you  are 
worthy  —  worthy  of  it  all,  Lasca  —  I  believe  it  in  my 
heart." 

It  made  her  infinitely  proud  and  happy  to  hear  me 
say  this,  and  she  thanked  me  over  and  over  again 
for  that  closing  remark,  and  her  voice  and  eyes 
showed  that  she  was  touched.  Presently  she  said: 

"Still,  it  is  not  all  sunshine  —  there  is  a  cloudy 
side.  The  burden  of  wealth  is  a  heavy  one  to  bear. 
Sometimes  I  have  doubted  if  it  were  not  better  to  be 
poor  —  at  least  not  inordinately  rich.  It  pains  me 
to  see  neighboring  tribesmen  stare  as  they  pass  by, 
and  overhear  them  say,  reverently,  one  to  another, 
4  There — that  is  she  — the  millionaire's  daughter!' 
And  sometimes  they  say  sorrowfully,  '  She  is  roll 
ing  in  fish-hooks,  and  I  —  I  have  nothing. '  It  breaks 
my  heart.  When  I  was  a  child  and  we  were  poor, 
we  slept  with  the  door  open,  if  we  chose,  but  now 
• —  now  we  have  to  have  a  night  watchman.  In  those 
days  my  father  was  gentle  and  courteous  to  all ;  but 
now  he  is  austere  and  haughty,  and  cannot  abide 
familiarity.  Once  his  family  were  his  sole  thought, 
but  now  he  goes  about  thinking  of  his  fish-hooks  all 
the  time.  And  his  wealth  makes  everybody  cringing 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  135 

and  obsequious  to  him.  Formerly  nobody  laughed 
at  his  jokes,  they  being  always  stale  and  far-fetched 
and  poor,  and  destitute  of  the  one  element  that  can 
really  justify  a  joke  —  the  element  of  humor;  but 
now  everybody  laughs  and  cackles  at  those  dismal 
things,  and  if  any  fails  to  do  it  my  father  is  deeply 
displeased,  and  shows  it.  Formerly  his  opinion  was 
not  sought  upon  any  matter  and  was  not  valuable 
when  he  volunteered  it;  it  has  that  infirmity  yet, 
but  nevertheless  it  is  sought  by  all  and  applauded 
by  all  —  and  he  helps  do  the  applauding  himself, 
having  no  true  delicacy  and  a  plentiful  want  of  tact. 
He  has  lowered  the  tone  of  all  our  tribe.  Once 
they  were  a  frank  and  manly  race,  now  they  are 
measly  hypocrites,  and  sodden  with  servility.  In 
my  heart  of  hearts  I  hate  all  the  ways  of  million 
aires !  Our  tribe  was  once  plain,  simple  folk,  and 
content  with  the  bone  fish-hooks  of  their  fathers; 
now  they  are  eaten  up  with  avarice  and  would  sacri 
fice  every  sentiment  of  honor  and  honesty  tc  possess 
themselves  of  the  debasing  iron  fish-hooks  of  the 
foreigner.  However,  I  must  not  dwell  on  these  sad 
things.  As  I  have  said,  it  was  my  dream  to  be 
loved  for  myself  alone. 

41  At  last,  this  dream  seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled. 
A  stranger  came  by,  one  day,  who  said  his  name 
was  Kalula.  I  told  him  my  name,  and  he  said  he 
loved  me.  My  heart  gave  a  great  bound  of  grati 
tude  and  pleasure,  for  I  had  loved  him  at  sight,  and 
now  I  said  so.  He  took  me  to  his  breast  and  said 


136  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

he  would  not  wish  to  be  happier  than  he  was  now. 
We  went  strolling  together  far  over  the  ice  floes, 
telling  all  about  each  other,  and  planning,  oh,  the 
loveliest  future  !  When  we  were  tired  at  last  we  sat 
down  and  ate,  for  he  had  soap  and  candles  and  I 
had  brought  along  some  blubber.  We  were  hungry, 
and  nothing  was  ever  so  good. 

"  He  belonged  to  a  tribe  whose  haunts  were  far  to 
the  north,  and  I  found  that  he  had  never  heard  of 
my  father,  which  rejoiced  me  exceedingly.  I  mean 
he  had  heard  of  the  millionaire,  but  had  never  heard 
his  name  —  so,  you  see,  he  could  not  know  that  I 
was  the  heiress.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  did  not 
tell  him.  I  was  loved  for  myself  at  last,  and  was 
satisfied.  I  was  so  happy  —  oh,  happier  than  you 
can  think ! 

"  By  and  by  it  was  toward  supper  time,  and  I  led 
him  home.  As  we  approached  our  house  he  was 
amazed,  and  cried  out: 

1  How  splendid  !      Is  that  your  father's?  ' 

"  It  gave  me  a  pang  to  hear  that  tone  and  see  that 
admiring  light  in  his  eye,  but  the  feeling  quickly 
passed  away,  for  I  loved  him  so,  and  he  looked  so 
handsome  and  noble.  All  my  family  of  aunts  and 
uncles  and  cousins  were  pleased  with  him,  and  many 
guests  were  called  in,  and  the  house  was  shut  up 
tight  and  the  rag-lamps  lighted,  and  when  everything 
was  hot  and  comfortable  and  suffocating,  we  began 
a  joyous  feast  in  celebration  of  my  betrothal. 

"When  the  feast    was  over,   my  father's  vanity 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  137 

overcame  him,  and  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  show  off  his  riches  and  let  Kalula  see  what  grand 
good  fortune  he  had  stumbled  into  —  and  mainly,  of 
course,  he  wanted  to  enjoy  the  poor  man's  amaze 
ment.  I  could  have  cried  —  but  it  would  have  done 
no  good  to  try  to  dissuade  my  father,  so  I  said  noth 
ing,  but  merely  sat  there  and  suffered. 

"  My  father  went  straight  to  the  hiding  place,  in 
full  sight  of  everybody,  and  got  out  the  fish-hooks 
and  brought  them  and  flung  them  scatteringly  over 
my  head,  so  that  they  fell  in  glittering  confusion  on 
the  platform  at  my  lover's  knee. 

"Of  course,  the  astounding  spectacle  took  the 
poor  lad's  breath  away.  He  could  only  stare  in 
stupid  astonishment,  and  wonder  how  a  single  in 
dividual  could  possess  such  incredible  riches.  Then 
presently  he  glanced  brilliantly  up  and  exclaimed : 

"  'Ah,  it  is  you  who  are  the  renowned  millionaire  ! ' 

41  My  father  and  all  the  rest  burst  into  shouts  of 
happy  laughter,  and  when  my  father  gathered  the 
treasure  carelessly  up  as  if  it  might  be  mere  rubbish 
and  of  no  consequence,  and  carried  it  back  to  its 
place,  poor  Kalula's  surprise  was  a  study.  He  said  : 

1 '  4  Is  it  possible  that  you  put  such  things  away 
without  counting  them?  ' 

"  My  father  delivered  a  vainglorious  horse-laugh, 
and  said : 

1  Well,  truly,  a  body  may  know  you  have  never 
been  rich,  since  a  mere  matter  of  a  fish-hook  or  two 
is  such  a  mighty  matter  in  your  eyes.' 


138  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

14  Kalula  was  confused,  and  hung  his  head,  but 
said : 

*'  '  Ah,  indeed,  sir,  I  was  never  worth  the  value  of 
the  barb  of  one  of  those  precious  things,  and  I  have 
never  seen  any  man  before  who  was  so  rich  in  them 
as  to  render  the  counting  of  his  hoard  worth  while, 
since  the  wealthiest  man  I  have  ever  known,  till  now, 
was  possessed  of  but  three.' 

11  My  foolish  father  roared  again  with  jejune  de 
light,  and  allowed  the  impression  to  remain  that  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  count  his  hooks  and  keep 
sharp  watch  over  them.  He  was  showing  off,  you  see. 
Count  them?  Why,  he  counted  them  every  day! 

"  I  had  met  and  got  acquainted  with  my  darling 
just  at  dawn;  I  had  brought  him  home  just  at  dark, 
three  hours  afterward  —  for  the  days  were  shorten 
ing  toward  the  six-months  night  at  that  time.  We 
kept  up  the  festivities  many  hours;  then,  at  last, 
the  guests  departed  and  the  rest  of  us  distributed 
ourselves  along  the  walls  on  sleeping-benches,  and 
soon  all  were  steeped  in  dreams  but  me.  I  was  too 
happy,  too  excited,  to  sleep.  After  I  had  lain  quiet 
a  long,  long  time,  a  dim  form  passed  by  me  and 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom  that  pervaded  the 
farther  end  of  the  house.  I  could  not  make  out 
who  it  was,  or  whether  it  was  man  or  woman. 
Presently  that  figure  or  another  one  passed  me  going 
the  other  way.  I  wondered  what  it  all  meant,  but 
wondering  did  no  good ;  and  while  I  was  still 
wondering,  I  fell  asleep. 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  139 

11  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  slept,  but  at  last  I 
came  suddenly  broad  awake  and  heard  my  father 
say  in  a  terrible  voice,  *  By  the  great  Snow  God, 
there's  a  fish-hook  gone  !  '  Something  told  me  that 
that  meant  sorrow  for  me,  and  the  blood  in  my  veins 
turned  cold.  The  presentiment  was  confirmed  in 
the  same  instant:  my  father  shouted,  'Up,  every 
body,  and  seize  the  stranger !  '  Then  there  was  an 
outburst  of  cries  and  curses  from  all  sides,  and  a  wild 
rush  of  dim  forms  through  the  obscurity.  I  flew  to 
my  beloved's  help,  but  what  could  I  do  but  wait  and 
wring  my  hands?  —  he  was  already  fenced  away 
from  me  by  a  living  wall,  he  was  being  bound  hand 
and  foot.  Not  until  he  was  secured  would  they  let 
me  get  to  him.  I  flung  myself  upon  his  poor  in 
sulted  form  and  cried  my  grief  out  upon  his  breast, 
while  my  father  and  all  my  family  scoffed  at  me  and 
heaped  threats  and  shameful  epithets  upon  him. 
He  bore  his  ill  usage  with  a  tranquil  dignity  which 
endeared  him  to  me  more  than  ever,  and  made  me 
proud  and  happy  to  suffer  with  him  and  for  him. 
I  heard  my  father  order  that  the  elders  of  the 
tribe  be  called  together  to  try  my  Kalula  for  his  life. 

"'What?'  I  said,  'before  any  search  has  been 
made  for  the  lost  hook?  ' 

"'Lost  hook!'  they  all  shouted,  in  derision; 
and  my  father  added,  mockingly,  '  Stand  back, 
everybody,  and  be  properly  serious  —  she  is  going 
to  hunt  up  that  lost  hook;  oh,  without  doubt  she 
will  find  it !  '  — whereat  they  all  laughed  again. 


140  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

"  I  was  not  disturbed  —  I  had  no  fears,  no  doubts. 
I  said : 

"  'It  is  for  you  to  laugh  now;   it  is  your  turn 
But  ours  is  coming;   wait  and  see.' 

"  I  got  a  rag-lamp.  I  thought  I  should  find  that 
miserable  thing  in  one  little  moment;  and  I  set 
about  the  matter  with  such  confidence  that  those 
people  grew  grave,  beginning  to  suspect  that  perhaps 
they  had  been  too  hasty.  But,  alas  and  alas  !  — oh, 
the  bitterness  of  that  search !  There  was  deep 
silence  while  one  might  count  his  fingers  ten  or 
twelve  times,  then  my  heart  began  to  sink,  and 
around  me  the  mockings  began  again,  and  grew 
steadily  louder  and  more  assured,  until  at  last,  when 
I  gave  up,  they  burst  into  volley  after  volley  of  cruel 
laughter. 

"  None  will  ever  know  what  I  suffered  then.  But 
my  love  was  my  support  and  my  strength,  and  I 
took  my  rightful  place  at  my  Kalula's  side,  and  put 
my  arm  about  his  neck,  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 
saying : 

1  You  are  innocent,  my  own  —  that  I  know;  but 
say  it  to  me  yourself,  for  my  comfort,  then  I  can 
bear  whatever  is  in  store  for  us.' 

1 '  He  answered  : 

'  As  surely  as  I  stand  upon  the  brink  of  death  at 
this  moment,  I  am  innocent.  Be  comforted,  then, 
O  bruised  heart;  be  at  peace,  O  thou  breath  of  my 
nostrils,  life  of  my  life  !  ' 

"  '  Now,  then,  let  the  elders  come  !  '  — and  as  I 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  14' 

said  the  words  there  was  a  gathering  sound  of 
crunching  snow  outside,  and  then  a  vision  of  stoop 
ing  forms  filing  in  at  the  door  —  the  elders. 

' '  My  father  formally  accused  the  prisoner,  and 
detailed  the  happenings  of  the  night.  He  said  that 
the  watchman  was  outside  the  door,  and  that  in 
the  house  were  none  but  the  family  and  the  stranger. 
'  Would  the  family  steal  their  own  property?  ' 

' '  He  paused.  The  elders  sat  silent  many  minutes ; 
at  last,  one  after  another  said  to  his  neighbor,  *  This 
looks  bad  for  the  stranger  '  —  sorrowful  words  for 
me  to  hear.  Then  my  father  sat  down.  O  miser 
able,  miserable  me  !  at  that  very  moment  I  could  have 
proved  my  darling  innocent,  but  I  did  not  know  it ! 

1 '  The  chief  of  the  court  asked : 

4  Is  there  any  here  to  defend  the  prisoner?  ' 

"  I  rose  and  said  : 

'  Why  should  he  steal  that  hook,  or  any  or  all  of 
them?  In  another  day  he  would  have  been  heir  to 
the  whole !  ' 

"  I  stood  waiting.  There  was  a  long  silence,  the 
steam  from  the  many  breaths  rising  about  me  like  a 
fog.  At  last,  one  elder  after  another  nodded  his 
head  slowly  several  times,  and  muttered,  '  There  is 
force  in  what  the  child  has  said.'  Oh,  the  heart- 
lift  that  was  in  those  words !  —  so  transient,  but 
oh,  so  precious  !  I  sat  down. 

1  If  any  would  say  further,  let  him  speak  now, 
or  after  hold  his  peace,'  said  the  chief  of  the  court. 

"  My  father  rose  and  said: 


142  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

"  '  In  the  night  a  form  passed  by  me  in  the 
gloom,  going  toward  the  treasury,  and  presently 
returned.  I  think,  now,  it  was  the  stranger.' 

"  Oh,  I  was  like  to  swoon  !  I  had  supposed  that 
that  was  my  secret;  not  the  grip  of  the  great  Ice 
God  himself  could  have  dragged  it  out  of  my  heart. 

The  chief  of  the  court  said  sternly  to  my  poor 
Kalula: 

"'Speak!' 

"  Kalula  hesitated,  then  answered: 

'  It  was  I.  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  the 
beautiful  hooks.  I  went  there  and  kissed  them  and 
fondled  them,  to  appease  my  spirit  and  drown  it  in 
a  harmless  joy,  then  I  put  them  back.  I  may  have 
dropped  one,  but  I  stole  none.' 

4<  Oh,  a  fatal  admission  to  make  in  such  a  place ! 
There  was  an  awful  hush.  I  knew  he  had  pro 
nounced  his  own  doom,  and  that  all  was  over.  On 
every  face  you  could  see  the  words  hieroglyphed : 
*  It  is  a  confession !—  and  paltry,  lame,  and  thin.' 

"I  sat  drawing  in  my  breath  in  faint  gasps  —  and 
waiting.  Presently,  I  heard  the  solemn  words  I 
knew  were  coming;  and  each  word,  as  it  came,  was 
a  knife  in  my  heart : 

"  *  It  is  the  command  of  the  court  that  the  accused 
be  subjected  to  the  trial  by  water.' 

"  Oh,  curses  be  upon  the  head  of  him  who 
brought  '  trial  by  water  '  to  our  land  !  It  came, 
generations  ago,  from  some  far  country,  that  lies 
none  knows  where.  Before  that,  our  fathers  used 


The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance  143 

augury  and  other  unsure  methods  of  trial,  and 
doubtless  some  poor,  guilty  creatures  escaped  with 
their  lives  sometimes ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  trial  by 
water,  which  is  an  invention  by  wiser  men  than  we 
poor,  ignorant  savages  are.  By  it  the  innocent  are 
proved  innocent,  without  doubt  or  question,  for 
they  drown ;  and  the  guilty  are  proven  guilty  with 
the  same  certainty,  for  they  do  not  drown.  My 
heart  was  breaking  in  my  bosom,  for  I  said,  '  He  is 
innocent,  and  he  will  go  down  under  the  waves  and 
I  shall  never  see  him  more.' 

14 1  never  left  his  side  after  that.  I  mourned  in  his 
arms  all  the  precious  hours,  and  he  poured  out  the 
deep  stream  of  his  love  upon  me,  and  oh,  I  was  so 
miserable  and  so  happy !  At  last,  they  tore  him 
from  me,  and  I  followed  sobbing  after  them,  and 
saw  them  fling  him  into  the  sea  —  then  I  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands.  Agony?  Oh,  I  know  the 
deepest  deeps  of  that  word  ! 

1  The  next  moment  the  people  burst  into  a  shout 
of  malicious  joy,  and  I  took  away  my  hands, 
startled.  Oh,  bitter  sight  —  he  was  swimming! 

1  'My  heart  turned  instantly  to  stone,  to  ice.  I 
said,  '  He  was  guilty,  and  he  lied  to  me !  ' 

"  I  turned  my  back  in  scorn  and  went  my  way 
homeward. 

'  They  took  him  far  out  to  sea  and  set  him  on  an 
iceberg  that  was  drifting  southward  in  the  great 
waters.  Then  my  family  came  home,  and  my 
father  said  to  me : 


144  The  Esquimau  Maiden's  Romance 

"  4  Your  thief  sent  his  dying  message  to  you,  say 
ing,  "  Tell  her  I  am  innocent,  and  that  all  the  days 
and  all  the  hours  and  all  the  minutes  while  I  starve 
and  perish  I  shall  love  her  and  think  of  her  and  bless 
the  day  that  gave  me  sight  of  her  sweet  face." 
Quite  pretty,  even  poetical ! 

"  I  said,  '  He  is  dirt  —  let  me  never  hear  mention 
of  him  again.'  And  oh,  to  think  —  he  was  inno 
cent  all  the  time  ! 

"Nine  months  —  nine  dull,  sad  months  —  went 
by,  and  at  last  came  the  day  of  the  Great  Annual 
Sacrifice,  when  all  the  maidens  of  the  tribe  wash 
their  faces  and  comb  their  hair.  With  the  first 
sweep  of  my  comb,  out  came  the  fatal  fish-hook 
from  where  it  had  been  all  those  months  nestling, 
and  I  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  my  remorseful 
father!  Groaning,  he  said,  'We  murdered  him, 
and  I  shall  never  smile  again  !  '  He  has  kept  his 
word.  Listen:  from  that  day  to  this  not  a  month 
goes  by  that  I  do  not  comb  my  hair.  But  oh,  where 
is  the  good  of  it  all  now !  ' ' 

So  ended  the  poor  maid's  humble  little  tale  — 
whereby  we  learn  that,  since  a  hundred  million  dol 
lars  in  New  York  and  twenty-two  fish-hooks  on  the 
border  of  the  Arctic  Circle  represent  the  same 
financial  supremacy,  a  man  in  straitened  circum 
stances  is  a  fool  to  stay  in  New  York  when  he  can 
buy  ten  cents'  worth  of  fish-hooks  and  emigrate. 


MY  FIRST  LIE,  AND  HOW  I  GOT  OUT 
OF  IT 

AS  I  understand  it,  what  you  desire  is  information 
about  "  my  first  lie,  and  how  I  got  out  of  it." 
I  was  born  in  1835;  I  am  we^  al°ng>  and  my 
memory  is  not  as  good  as  it  was.  If  you  had  asked 
about  my  first  truth  it  would  have  been  easier  for 
me  and  kinder  of  you,  for  I  remember  that  fairly 
well;  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  last  week.  The 
family  think  it  was  week  before,  but  that  is  flattery 
and  probably  has  a  selfish  project  back  of  it.  When 
a  person  has  become  seasoned  by  experience  and 
has  reached  the  age  of  sixty-four,  which  is  the  age 
of  discretion,  he  likes  a  family  compliment  as  well 
as  ever,  but  he  does  not  lose  his  head  over  it  as  in 
the  old  innocent  days. 

I  do  not  remember  my  first  lie,  it  is  too  far  back; 
but  I  remember  my  second  one  very  well.  I  was 
nine  days  old  at  the  time,  and  had  noticed  that  if  a 
pin  was  sticking  in  me  and  I  advertised  it  in  the 
usual  fashion,  I  was  lovingly  petted  and  coddled  and 
pitied  in  a  most  agreeable  way  and  got  a  ration  be 
tween  meals  besides.  It  was  human  nature  to  want 

(145) 


146       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

to  get  these  riches,  and  I  fell.  I  lied  about  the  pin 
—  advertising  one  when  there  wasn't  any.  You 
would  have  done  it;  George  Washington  did  it; 
anybody  would  have  done  it.  During  the  first  half 
of  my  life  I  never  knew  a  child  that  was  able  to  rise 
above  that  temptation  and  keep  from  telling  that  lie. 
Up  to  1867  all  the  civilized  children  that  were  ever 
born  into  the  world  were  liars — including  George. 
Then  the  safety-pin  came  in  and  blocked  the  game. 
But  is  that  reform  worth  anything?  No;  for  it  is 
reform  by  force  and  has  no  virtue  in  it;  it  merely 
stops  that  form  of  lying;  it  doesn't  impair  the  dis 
position  to  lie,  by  a  shade.  It  is  the  cradle  applica 
tion  of  conversion  by  fire  and  sword,  or  of  the  tem 
perance  principle  through  prohibition. 

To  return  to  that  early  lie.  They  found  no  pin, 
and  they  realized  that  another  liar  had  been  added 
to  the  world's  supply.  For  by  grace  of  a  rare  in 
spiration,  a  quite  commonplace  but  seldom  noticed 
fact  was  borne  in  upon  their  understandings  —  that 
almost  all  lies  are  acts,  and  speech  has  no  part  in 
them.  Then,  if  they  examined  a  little  further  they 
recognized  that  all  people  are  liars  from  the  cradle 
onward,  without  exception,  and  that  they  begin  to 
lie  as  soon  as  they  wake  in  the  morning,  and  keep  it 
up,  without  rest  or  refreshment,  until  they  go  to 
sleep  at  night.  If  they  arrived  at  that  truth  it  prob 
ably  grieved  them  —  did,  if  they  had  been  heedlessly 
and  ignorantly  educated  by  their  books  and  teachers ; 
for  why  should  a  person  grieve  over  a  thing  which 


My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It       147 

by  the  eternal  law  of  his  make  he  cannot  help?  He 
didn't  invent  the  law;  it  is  merely  his  business  to 
obey  it  and  keep  still ;  join  the  universal  conspiracy 
and  keep  so  still  that  he  shall  deceive  his  fellow-con 
spirators  into  imagining  that  he  doesn't  know  that 
the  law  exists.  It  is  what  we  all  do  —  we  that  know. 
I  am  speaking  of  the  lie  of  silent  assertion ;  we  can 
tell  it  without  saying  a  word,  and  we  all  do  it  —  we 
that  know.  In  the  magnitude  of  its  territorial  spread 
it  is  one  of  the  most  majestic  lies  that  the  civiliza 
tions  make  it  their  sacred  and  anxious  care  to  guard 
and  watch  and  propagate. 

For  instance :  It  would  not  be  possible  for  a 
humane  and  intelligent  person  to  invent  a  rational 
excuse  for  slavery;  yet  you  will  remember  that  in 
the  early  days  of  the  emancipation  agitation  in  the 
North,  the  agitators  got  but  small  help  or  counte 
nance  from  any  one.  Argue  and  plead  and  pray  as 
they  might,  they  could  not  break  the  universal  still 
ness  that  reigned,  from  pulpit  and  press  all  the  way 
down  to  the  bottom  of  society- — the  clammy  still 
ness  created  and  maintained  by  the  lie  of  silent  asser 
tion —  the  silent  assertion  that  there  wasn't  anything 
going  on  in  which  humane  and  intelligent  people 
were  interested. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  Dreyfus  case  to  the  end 
of  it,  all  France,  except  a  couple  of  dozen  moral 
paladins,  lay  under  the  smother  of  the  silent-asser 
tion  lie  that  no  wrong  was  being  done  to  a  perse 
cuted  and  unoffending  man.  The  like  smother 


148       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

was  over  England  lately,  a  good  half  of  the  popula 
tion  silently  letting  on  that  they  were  not  aware 
that  Mr.  Chamberlain  was  trying  to  manufacture  a 
war  in  South  Africa  and  was  willing  to  pay  fancy 
prices  for  the  materials. 

Now  there  we  have  instances  of  three  prominent 
ostensible  civilizations  working  the  silent-assertion 
lie.  Could  one  find  other  instances  in  the  three 
countries?  I  think  so.  Not  so  very  many,  per 
haps,  but  say  a  billion  —  just  so  as  to  keep  within 
bounds.  Are  those  countries  working  that  kind  of 
lie,  day  in  and  day  out,  in  thousands  and  thousands 
of  varieties,  without  ever  resting?  Yes,  we  know  that 
to  be  true.  The  universal  conspiracy  of  the  silent- 
assertion  lie  is  hard  at  work  always  and  everywhere, 
and  always  in  the  interest  of  a  stupidity  or  a  sham, 
never  in  the  interest  of  a  thing  fine  or  respectable. 
Is  it  the  most  timid  and  shabby  of  all  lies?  It 
seems  to  have  the  look  of  it.  For  ages  and  ages  it 
has  mutely  labored  in  the  interest  of  despotisms  and 
aristocracies  and  chattel  slaveries,  and  military 
slaveries,  and  religious  slaveries,  and  has  kept  them 
alive;  keeps  them  alive  yet,  here  and  there  and 
yonder,  all  about  the  globe ;  and  will  go  on  keeping 
them  alive  until  the  silent-assertion  lie  retires  from 
business  —  the  silent  assertion  that  nothing  is  going 
on  which  fair  and  intelligent  men  are  aware  of  and 
are  engaged  by  their  duty  to  try  to  stop. 

What  I  am  arriving  at  is  this :  When  whole  races 
and  peoples  conspire  to  propagate  gigantic  mute  lies 


My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It       149 

in  the  interest  of  tyrannies  and  shams,  why  should 
we  care  anything  about  the  trifling  lies  told  by  in 
dividuals?  Why  should  we  try  to  make  it  appear 
that  abstention  from  lying  is  a  virtue  ?  Why  should 
we  want  to  beguile  ourselves  in  that  way?  Why 
should  we  without  shame  help  the  nation  lie,  and 
then  be  ashamed  to  do  a  little  lying  on  our  own 
account?  Why  shouldn't  we  be  honest  and  honor 
able,  and  lie  every  time  we  get  a  chance?  That  is 
to  say,  why  shouldn't  we  be  consistent,  and  either 
lie  all  the  time  or  not  at  all?  Why  should  we  help 
the  nation  lie  the  whole  day  long  and  then  object  to 
telling  one  little  individual  private  lie  in  our  own 
interest  to  go  to  bed  on?  Just  for  the  refreshment 
of  it,  I  mean,  and  to  take  the  rancid  taste  out  of  our 
mouth. 

Here  in  England  they  have  the  oddest  ways. 
They  won't  tell  a  spoken  lie  —  nothing  can  persuade 
them.  Except  in  a  large  moral  interest,  like  politics 
or  religion,  I  mean.  To  tell  a  spoken  lie  to  get 
even  the  poorest  little  personal  advantage  out  of  it  is 
a  thing  which  is  impossible  to  them.  They  make 
me  ashamed  of  myself  sometimes,  they  are  so 
bigoted.  They  will  not  even  tell  a  lie  for  the  fun  of 
it;  they  will  not  tell  it  when  it  hasn't  even  a  sugges 
tion  of  damage  or  advantage  in  it  for  any  one.  This 
has  a  restraining  influence  upon  me  in  spite  of 
reason,  and  I  am  always  getting  out  of  practice. 

Of  course,  they  tell  all  sorts  of  little  unspoken  lies, 
just  like  anybody;  but  they  don't  notice  it  until  their 
10 


150       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

attention  is  called  to  it.  They  have  got  me  so  that 
sometimes  I  never  tell  a  verbal  lie  now  except  in  a 
modified  form ;  and  even  in  the  modified  form  they 
don't  approve  of  it.  Still,  that  is  as  far  as  I  can  go 
in  the  interest  of  the  growing  friendly  relations 
between  the  two  countries ;  I  must  keep  some  of  my 
self-respect — and  my  health.  I  can  live  on  a  low 
diet,  but  I  can't  get  along  on  no  sustenance  at  all. 

Of  course,  there  are  times  when  these  people  have 
to  come  out  with  a  spoken  lie,  for  that  is  a  thing 
which  happens  to  everybody  once  in  a  while,  and 
would  happen  to  the  angels  if  they  came  down  here 
much.  Particularly  to  the  angels,  in  fact,  for  the 
lies  I  speak  of  are  self-sacrificing  ones  told  for  a  gen 
erous  object,  not  a  mean  one ;  but  even  when  these 
people  tell  a  lie  of  that  sort  it  seems  to  scare  them 
and  unsettle  their  minds.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to 
see,  and  shows  that  they  are  all  insane.  In  fact,  it 
is  a  country  full  of  the  most  interesting  superstitions. 

I  have  an  English  friend  of  twenty-five  years' 
standing,  and  yesterday  when  we  were  coming  down 
town  on  top  of  the  'bus  I  happened  to  tell  him  a  lie 
—  a  modified  one,  of  course;  a  half-breed,  a 
mulatto:  I  can't  seem  to  tell  any  other  kind  now, 
the  market  is  so  flat.  I  was  explaining  to  him  how 
I  got  out  of  an  embarrassment  in  Austria  last  year. 
I  do  not  know  what  might  have  become  of  me  if  I 
hadn't  happened  to  remember  to  tell  the  police  that 
I  belonged  to  the  same  family  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  That  made  everything  pleasant  and  they  let 


My  First  Lie,  and  How  1  Got  Out  of  It       151 

me  go;  and  apologized,  too,  and  were  ever  so  kind 
and  obliging  and  polite,  and  couldn't  do  too  much 
for  me,  and  explained  how  the  mistake  came  to  be 
made,  and  promised  to  hang  the  officer  that  did  it, 
and  hoped  I  would  let  bygones  be  bygones  and  not 
say  anything  about  it ;  and  I  said  they  could  depend 
on  me.  My  friend  said,  austerely: 

"You  call  it  a  modified  lie?  Where  is  the 
modification?  " 

I  explained  that  it  lay  in  the  form  of  my  state 
ment  to  the  police. 

41  I  didn't  say  I  belonged  to  the  royal  family:  I 
only  said  I  belonged  to  the  same  family  as  the  Prince 
—  meaning  the  human  family,  of  course;  and  if 
those  people  had  had  any  penetration  they  would 
have  known  it.  I  can't  go  around  furnishing  brains 
to  the  police;  it  is  not  to  be  expected." 

14  How  did  you  feel  after  that  performance?  " 

"  Well,  of  course  I  was  distressed  to  find  that  the 
police  had  misunderstood  me,  but  as  long  as  I  had 
not  told  any  lie  I  knew  there  was  no  occasion  to  sit 
up  nights  and  worry  about  it." 

My  friend  struggled  with  the  case  several  minutes, 
turning  it  over  and  examining  it  in  his  mind ;  then  he 
said  that  so  far  as  he  could  see  the  modification  was 
itself  a  lie,  being  a  misleading  reservation  of  an  ex 
planatory  fact;  so  I  had  told  two  lies  instead  of  one. 

4'I  wouldn't  have  done  it,"  said  he:  "I  have 
never  told  a  lie,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do 
such  a  thing." 


152       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

Just  then  he  lifted  his  hat  and  smiled  a  basketful 
of  surprised  and  delighted  smiles  down  at  a  gentle 
man  who  was  passing  in  a  hansom. 

41  Who  was  that,  G -?'1 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  that?  " 

' '  Because  I  saw  he  thought  he  knew  me  and  was 
expecting  it  of  me.  If  I  hadn't  done  it  he  would 
have  been  hurt.  I  didn't  want  to  embarrass  him 
before  the  whole  street." 

"Well,  your  heart  was  right,  G ,  and  your 

act  was  right.  What  you  did  was  kindly  and 
courteous  and  beautiful;  I  would  have  done  it 
myself:  but  it  was  a  lie." 

"A  lie?  I  didn't  say  a  word.  How  do  you 
make  it  out?  " 

"I  know  you  didn't  speak,  still  you  said  to  him 
very  plainly  and  enthusiastically  in  dumb  show, 
'  Hello  !  you  in  town?  Awful  glad  to  see  you,  old 
fellow;  when  did  you  get  back?'  Concealed  in 
your  actions  was  what  you  have  called  '  a  misleading 
reservation  of  an  explanatory  fact '  —  the  fact  that 
you  had  never  seen  him  before.  You  expressed  joy 
in  encountering  him-—- a  lie;  and  you  made  that 
reservation  *— another  lie.  It  was  my  pair  over 
again.  But  don't  be  troubled  —  we  all  do  it." 

Two  hours  later,  at  dinner,  when  quite  other  mat 
ters  were  being  discussed,  he  told  how  he  happened 
along  once  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  do  a  great  serv 
ice  for  a  family  who  were  old  friends  of  his.  The 


My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It       153 

head  of  it  had  suddenly  died  in  circumstances  and 
surroundings  of  a  ruinously  disgraceful  character. 
If  known,  the  facts  would  break  the  hearts  of  the 
innocent  family  and  put  upon  them  a  load  of  unen 
durable  shame.  There  was  no  help  but  in  a  giant 
lie,  and  he  girded  up  his  loins  and  told  it. 
4  The  family  never  found  out,  G—  —  ?  " 

"  Never.      In  all  these  years  they  have  never  sus 
pected.     They  were  proud  of  him,  and  always  had 
reason  to  be ;  they  are  proud  of  him  yet,  and  to  them 
his  memory  is  sacred  and  stainless  and  beautiful." 
'  They  had  a  narrow  escape,  G ." 

"Indeed  they  had." 

1 4  For  the  very  next  man  that  came  along  might 
have  been  one  of  these  heartless  and  shameless  truth- 
mongers.  You  have  told  the  truth  a  million  times 

in  your  life,  G ,  but  that  one  golden  lie  atones 

for  it  all.     Persevere." 

Some  may  think  me  not  strict  enough  in  my 
morals,  but  that  position  is  hardly  tenable.  There 
are  many  kinds  of  lying  which  I  do  not  approve. 
I  do  not  like  an  injurious  lie,  except  when  it  injures 
somebody  else ;  and  I  do  not  like  the  lie  of  bravado, 
nor  the  lie  of  virtuous  ecstasy :  the  latter  was  affected 
by  Bryant,  the  former  by  Carlyle. 

Mr.  Bryant  said,  "Truth  crushed  to  earth  will 
rise  again." 

I  have  taken  medals  at  thirteen  world's  fairs,  and 
may  claim  to  be  not  without  capacity,  but  I  never 
told  as  big  a  one  as  that  which  Mr.  Bryant  was  play- 


154       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

ing  to  the  gallery;  we  all  do  it.  Carlyle  said,  in 
substance,  this  —  I  do  not  remember  the  exact 
words :  ' '  This  gospel  is  eternal  —  that  a  lie  shall 
not  live." 

I  have  a  reverent  affection  for  Carlyle 's  books, 
and  have  read  his  Revolution  eight  times ;  and  so  I 
prefer  to  think  he  was  not  entirely  at  himself  when 
he  told  that  one.  To  me  it  is  plain  that  he  said  it  in 
a  moment  of  excitement,  when  chasing  Americans 
out  of  his  back-yard  with  brickbats.  They  used  to 
go  there  and  worship.  At  bottom  he  was  probably 
fond  of  them,  but  he  was  always  able  to  conceal  it. 
He  kept  bricks  for  them,  but  he  was  not  a  good 
shot,  and  it  is  matter  of  history  that  when  he  fired 
they  dodged,  and  carried  off  the  brick;  for  as  a 
nation  we  like  relics,  and  so  long  as  we  get  them  we 
do  not  much  care  what  the  reliquary  thinks  about  it. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  when  he  told  that  large  one 
about  a  lie  not  being  able  to  live,  he  had  just  missed 
an  American  and  was  over-excited.  He  told  it  above 
thirty  years  ago,  but  it  is  alive  yet;  alive,  and  very 
healthy  and  hearty,  and  likely  to  outlive  any  fact  in 
history.  Carlyle  was  truthful  when  calm,  but  give 
him  Americans  enough  and  bricks  enough  and  he 
could  have  taken  medals  himself. 

As  regards  that  time  that  George  Washington  told 
the  truth,  a  word  must  be  said,  of  course.  It  is  the 
principal  jewel  in  the  crown  of  America,  and  it  is 
but  natural  that  we  should  work  it  for  all  it  is 
worth,  as  Milton  says  in  his  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 


My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It       155 

strel."  It  was  a  timely  and  judicious  truth,  and  I 
should  have  told  it  myself  in  the  circumstances. 
But  I  should  have  stopped  there.  It  was  a  stately 
truth,  a  lofty  truth  —  a  Tower;  and  I  think  it  was  a 
mistake  to  go  on  and  distract  attention  from  its  sub 
limity  by  building  another  Tower  alongside  of  it 
fourteen  times  as  high.  I  refer  to  his  remark  that 
he  * '  could  not  lie. ' '  I  should  have  fed  that  to  the 
marines :  or  left  it  to  Carlyle ;  it  is  just  in  his  style. 
It  would  have  taken  a  medal  at  any  European  fair, 
and  would  have  got  an  Honorable  Mention  even  at 
Chicago  if  it  had  been  saved  up.  But  let  it  pass: 
the  Father  of  his  Country  was  excited.  I  have  been 
in  those  circumstances,  and  I  recollect. 

With  the  truth  he  told  I  have  no  objection  to 
offer,  as  already  indicated.  I  think  it  was  not  pre 
meditated,  but  an  inspiration.  With  his  fine  mili 
tary  mind,  he  had  probably  arranged  to  let  his 
brother  Edward  in  for  the  cherry-tree  results,  but 
by  an  inspiration  he  saw  his  opportunity  in  time  and 
took  advantage  of  it.  By  telling  the  truth  he  could 
astonish  his  father ;  his  father  would  tell  the  neigh 
bors  ;  the  neighbors  would  spread  it ;  it  would  travel 
to  all  firesides ;  in  the  end  it  would  make  him  Presi 
dent,  and  not  only  that,  but  First  President.  He 
was  a  far-seeing  boy  and  would  be  likely  to  think  of 
these  things.  Therefore,  to  my  mind,  he  stands 
justified  for  what  he  did.  But  not  for  the  other 
Tower:  it  was  a  mistake.  Still,  I  don't  know  about 
that;  upon  reflection  I  think  perhaps  it  wasn't.  For 


156       My  First  Lie,  and  How  I  Got  Out  of  It 

indeed  it  is  that  Tower  that  makes  the  other  one  live. 
If  he  hadn't  said  "  I  cannot  tell  a  lie,"  there  would 
have  been  no  convulsion.  That  was  the  earthquake 
that  rocked  the  planet.  That  is  the  kind  of  state 
ment  that  lives  forever,  and  a  fact  barnacled  to  it 
has  a  good  chance  to  share  its  immortality. 

To  sum  up,  on  the  whole  I  am  satisfied  with 
things  the  way  they  are.  There  is  a  prejudice 
against  the  spoken  lie,  but  none  against  any  other, 
and  by  examination  and  mathematical  computation 
I  find  that  the  proportion  of  the  spoken  lie  to  the 
other  varieties  is  as  I  to  22,894.  Therefore  the 
spoken  lie  is  of  no  consequence,  and  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  go  around  fussing  about  it  and  trying  to 
make  believe  that  it  is  an  important  matter.  The 
silent  colossal  National  Lie  that  is  the  support  and 
confederate  of  all  the  tyrannies  and  shams  and  in 
equalities  and  unfairnesses  that  afflict  the  peoples  — 
that  is  the  one  to  throw  bricks  and  sermons  at.  But 
let  us  be  judicious  and  let  somebody  else  begin. 

And  then —  But  I  have  wandered  from  my  text. 
How  did  I  get  out  of  my  second  lie?  I  think  I  got 
out  with  honor,  but  I  cannot  be  sure,  for  it  was  a 
long  time  ago  and  some  of  the  details  have  faded 
out  of  my  memory.  I  recollect  that  I  was  reversed 
and  stretched  across  some  one's  knee,  and  that 
something  happened,  but  I  cannot  now  remember 
what  it  was.  I  think  there  was  music ;  but  it  is  all 
dim  now  and  blurred  by  the  lapse  of  time,  and  this 
may  be  only  a  senile  fancy. 


THE  BELATED  RUSSIAN  PASSPORT 

One  Fly  Makes  a  Summer.— PudtVnhead  Wilson's  Calendar 


S  GREAT  beer-saloon  m— *ke-  Fried richstrasse, 
Berlin,  toward  mid-afternoon.  {  At  a  hundred 
round  tables  gentlemen  sat  smoking  and  drinking; 
flitting  here  and  there  and  everywhere  were  white- 
aproned  waiters  bearing  foaming  mugs  to  the  thirsty. 
At  a  table  near  the  main  entrance  were  grouped  half 
a  dozen  lively  young  fellows  —  American  students  — 
drinking  goodby  to  a  visiting  Yale  youth  on  his 
travels,  who  had  been  spending  a  few  days  in  the 
German  capital. 

14  But  why  do  you  cut  your  tour  short  in  the 
middle,  Parrish?"  asked  one  of  the  students.  *'  I 
wish  I  had  your  chance.  What  do  you  want  to  go 
home  for?" 

44  Yes,"  said  another,  44  what  is  the  idea?  You 
want  to  explain,  you  know,  because  it  looks  like  in 
sanity.  Homesick  ? ' ' 

tt57) 


158  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

A  girlish  blush  rose  in  Parrish's  fresh  young  face, 
and  after  a  little  hesitation  he  confessed  that  that 
was  his  trouble. 

"  I  was  never  away  from  home  before,"  he  said, 
"  and  every  day  I  get  more  and  more  lonesome.  I 
have  not  seen  a  friend  for  weeks,  and  it's  been  hor 
rible.  I  meant  to  stick  the  trip  through,  for  pride's 
sake,  but  seeing  you  boys  has  finished  me.  It's 
been  heaven  to  me,  and  I  can't  take  up  that  com- 
panionless  dreariness  again.  If  I  had  company  — 
but  I  haven't,  you  know,  so  it's  no  use.  They  used 
to  call  me  Miss  Nancy  when  I  was  a  small  chap,  and 
I  reckon  I'm  that  yet  —  girlish  and  tiinorous>  and 
all  that.  I  ought  to  have  been  a  girl !  I  can't  stand 
it;  I'm  going  home." 

The  boys  rallied  him  good-naturedly,  and  said  he 
was  making  the  mistake  of  his  life ;  and  one  of  them 
added  that  he  ought  at  least  to  see  St.  Petersburg 
before  turning  back. 

"Don't!"  said  Parrish,  appealingly.  "  It  was 
my  dearest  dream,  and  I'm  throwing  it  away. 
Don't  say  a  word  more  on  that  head,  for  I'm  made 
of  water,  and  can't  stand  out  against  anybody's 
persuasion.  I  can't  go  alone;  I  think  I  should  die." 
f  He  slapped  his  breast  pocket,  and  added:  "  Here 
is  my  protection  against  a  change  of  mind;  I've 
bought  ticket  and  sleeper  for  Paris,  and  I  leave  to 
night.  Drink,  now  —  this  is  on  me  —  bumpers  — 
this  is  for  home!'^ 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  159 

The  goodbyes  were  said,  and  Alfred  Parrish  was 
left  to  his  thoughts  and  his  loneliness.  But  for  a 
moment  only.  A  sturdy  middle-aged  man  with  a 
brisk  and  businesslike  bearing,  and  an  air  of  decision 
and  confidence  suggestive  of  military  training,  came 
bustling  from  the  next  table,  and  seated  himself  at 
Parrish' s  side,  and  began  to  speak,  with  concen 
trated  interest  and  earnestness.  His  eyes,  his  face, 
his  person,  his  whole  system,  seemed  to  exude 
energy.  (  He  was  full  of  steam  —  racing  pressure  — 
one  could  almost  hear  his  gauge-cocks  sing. )  He  ex 
tended  a  frank  hand,  shook  Parrish's  cordially,  and 
said,  with  a  most  convincing  air  of  strenuous  convic 
tion: 

"Ah,  but  you  mustn't;  really  you  mustn't;  it 
would  be  the  greatest  mistake;  you  would  always 
regret  it.  Be  persuaded,  I  beg  you;  don't  do  it  — 
don't!" 

(  There  was  such  a  friendly  note  in  it,  and  such  a 
seeming  of  genuineness,  that  it  brought  a  sort  of  up 
lift  to  the  youth's  despondent  spirits,  and  a  telltale 
moisture  betrayed  itself  in  his  eyes,  an  unintentional 
confession  that  he  was  touched  and  grateful*  The 
alert  stranger  noted  that  sign,  was  quite  content  with 
that  response,  and  followed  up  his  advantage 
without  waiting  for  a  spoken  one : 

"  No,  don't  do  it;  it  would  be  a  mistake.  I  have 
heard  everything  that  was  said  —  you  will  pardon 
that  —  I  was  so  close  by  that  I  couldn't  help  it. 


160  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

And  it  troubled  me  to  think  that  you  would  cut 
your  travels  short  when  you  really  want  to  see  St. 
Petersburg,  and  are  right  here  almost  in  sight  of  it ! 
Reconsider  it  • —  ah,  you  must  reconsider  it.  It  is 
such  a  short  distance  —  it  is  very  soon  done  and 
very  soon  over  —  and  think  what  a  memory  it 
will  be!'1 

Then  he  went  on  and  made  a  picture  of  the  Rus 
sian  capital  and  its  wonders,  which  made  Alfred 
Parrish's  mouth  water  and  his  roused  spirits  cry  out 
with  longing.  Then  —  N 

"  Of  course  you  must  see  St.  Petersburg  —  you 
must !  Why,  it  will  be  a  joy  to  you  —  a  joy !  I 
know,  because  I  know  the  place  as  familiarly  as  I 
know  my  own  birthplace  in  America.  Ten  years  — 
I've  known  it  ten  years.  Ask  anybody  there; 
they'll  tell  you ;  they  all  know  me  —  Major  Jackson. 
The  very  dogs  know  me.  Do  go;  oh,  you  must 
go;  you  must,  indeed." 

Alfred  Parrish  was  quivering  with  eagerness  now. 
He  would  go.  His  face  said  it  as  plainly  as  his 
tongue  could  have  done  it.  Then  —  the  old  shadow 
fell,  and  he  said,  sorrowfully: 

"  Oh  no  —  no,  it's  no  use;  I  can't.  I  should  die 
of  the  loneliness." 

The  Major  said,  with  astonishment:  "The  — 
loneliness  !  Why,  I'm  going  with  you  !" 

It  was  startlingly  unexpected.  And  not  quite 
pleasant.  Things  were  moving  too  rapidly.  Was 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  161 

this  a  trap?  Was  this  stranger  a  sharper?  Whence 
all  this  gratuitous  interest  in  a  wandering  and  un 
known  lad?  Then  he  glanced  at  the  Major's  frank 
and  winning  and  beaming  face,  and  was  ashamed; 
and  wished  he  knew  how  to  get  out  of  this  scrape 
without  hurting  the  feelings  of  its  contriver.  But  he 
was  not  handy  in  matters  of  diplomacy,  and  went  at 
the  difficulty  with  conscious  awkwardness  and  small 
confidence.  He  said,  with  a  quite  overdone  show  of 
unselfishness : 

"Oh  no,  no,  you  are  too  kind;  I  couldn't  —  I 
couldn't  allow  you  to  put  yourself  to  such  an  incon 
venience  on  my — " 

11  Inconvenience?  None  in  the  world,  my  boy;  I 
was  going  to-night,  anyway ;  I  leave  in  the  express 
at  nine.  Come!  we'll  go  together.  You  sha'n't 
be  lonely  a  single  minute.  Come  along  —  say  the 
word!" 

So  that  excuse  had  failed.  What  to  do  now? 
Parrish  was  disheartened ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  no 
subterfuge  which  his  poor  invention  could  contrive 
would  ever  rescue  him  from  these  toils.  Still,  he 
must  make  another  effort,  and  he  did ;  and  before 
he  had  finished  his  new  excuse  he  thought  he  recog 
nized  that  it  was  unanswerable : 

\"Ah,  but  most  unfortunately  luck  is  against  me, 
and  it  is  impossible.  Look  at  these" — and  he 
took  out  his  tickets  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 
"  I  am  booked  through  to  Paris,  and  I  couldn't  get 


162  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

these  tickets  and  baggage  coupons  changed  for  St. 
Petersburg,  of  course,  and  would  have  to  lose  the 
money;  and  if  I  could  afford  to  lose  the  money  I 
should  be  rather  short  after  I  bought  the  new  tickets 
—  for  there  is  all  the  cash  I've  got  about  me" — 
and  he  laid  a  five-hundred-mark  bank-note  on  the 
table. 

In  a  moment  the  Major  had  the  tickets  and  cou 
pons  and  was  on  his  feet,  and  saying,  with  enthu 
siasm  : 

"Good!  It's  all  right,  and  everything  safe. 
They'll  change  the  tickets  and  baggage  pasters  for 
me;  they  all  know  me  —  everybody  knows  me. 
Sit  right  where  you  are;  I'll  be  back  right  away." 
Then  he  reached  for  the  bank-note,  and  added,  "  I'll 
take  this  along,  for  there  will  be  a  little  extra  pay 
on  the  new  tickets,  maybe  " —  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  flying  out  at  the  door. 


II. 

Alfred  Parrish  was  paralyzed.  It  was  all  so 
sudden.  So  sudden,  so  daring,  so  incredible,  so 
impossible.  His  mouth  was  open,  but  his  tongue 
wouldn't  work;  he  tried  to  shout  "  Stop  him," 
but  his  lungs  were  empty,  he  wanted  to  pur 
sue,  but  his  legs  refused  to  do  anything  but 
tremble;  then  they  gave  way  under  him  and  let 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  163 

him  down  into  his  chair.  His  throat  was  dry,  he 
was  gasping  and  swallowing  with  dismay,  his  head 
was  in  a  whirl.  What  must  he  do?  He  did  not 
know.  One  thing  seemed  plain,  however  —  he  must 
pull  himself  together,  and  try  to  overtake  that  man. 
Of  course  the  man  could  not  get  back  the  ticket- 
money,  but  would  he  throw  the  tickets  away  on  that 
account?  No;  he  would  certainly  go  to  the  station 
and  sell  them  to  some  one  at  half-price ;  and  to-day, 
too,  for  they  would  be  worthless  to-morrow,  by  Ger 
man  custom.  These  reflections  gave  him  hope  and 
strength,  and  he  rose  and  started.  But  he  took  only 
a  couple  of  steps,  then  he  felt  a  sudden  sickness, 
and  tottered  back  to  his  chair  again,  weak  with  a 
dread  that  his  movement  had  been  noticed  —  for  the 
last  round  of  beer  was  at  his  expense ;  it  had  not 
been  paid  for,  and  he  hadn't  a  pfennig.  He  was  a 
prisoner  —  Heaven  only  could  know  what  might 
happen  if  he  tried  to  leave  the  place.  He  was  timid, 
scared,  crushed;  and  he  had  not  German  enough  to 
state  his  case  and  beg  for  help  and  indulgence.; 

Then  his  thoughts  began  to  persecute  him.  How 
could  he  have  been  such  a  fool?  What  possessed 
him  to  listen  to  such  a  manifest  adventurer?  And 
here  comes  the  waiter !  He  buried  himself  in  the 
newspaper  —  trembling.  The  waiter  passed  by.  It 
filled  him  with  thankfulness.  The  hands  of  the  clock 
seemed  to  stand  still,  yet  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes 
from  them. 


164  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

Ten  minutes  dragged  by.  The  waiter  again! 
Again  he  hid  behind  the  paper.  The  waiter  paused 

—  apparently  a  week  —  then  passed  on. 

Another  ten  minutes  of  misery  —  once  more  the 
waiter;  this  time  he  wiped  off  the  table,  and  seemed 
to  be  a  month  at  it;  then  paused  two  months,  and 
went  away. 

Parrish  felt  that  he  could  not  endure  another  visit ; 
he  must  take  the  chances :  he  must  run  the  gauntlet ; 
he  must  escape.  But  the  waiter  stayed  around  about 
the  neighborhood  for  five  minutes  —  months  and 
months  seemingly,  Parrish  watching  him  with  a 
despairing  eye,  and  feeling  the  infirmities  of  age 
creeping  upon  him  and  his  hair  gradually  turning 
gray. 

At  last  the  waiter  wandered  away  —  stopped  at  a 
table,  collected  a  bill,  wandered  farther,  collected 
another  bill,  wandered  farther — Parrish's  praying 
eye  riveted  on  him  all  the  time,  his  heart  thumping, 
his  breath  coming  and  going  in  quick  little  gasps  of 
anxiety  mixed  with  hope. 

The  waiter  stopped  again  to  collect,  and  Parrish 
said  to  himself,  it  is  now  or  never !  and  started  for 
the  door.  One  step  —  two  steps  —  three  —  four 

—  he  was  nearing  the  door  —  five  —  his  legs  shaking 
under  him  —  was  that  a  swift  step  behind   him  ?  — 
the  thought  shriveled  his  heart —  six  steps  —  seven, 
and  he  was  out !  —  eight  —  nine  —  ten  —  eleven  — 
twelve  —  there  is  a  pursuing  step  !  - —  he  turned  the 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  165 

corner,  and  picked  up  his  heels  to  fly  —  a  heavy 
hand  fell  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  strength  went  out 
of  his  body ! 

It  was  the  Major.  He  asked  not  a  question,  he 
showed  no  surprise.  He  said,  in  his  breezy  and  ex 
hilarating  fashion : 

"  Confound  those  people,  they  delayed  me; 
that's  why  I  was  gone  so  long.  New  man  in  the 
ticket-office,  and  he  didn't  know  me,  and  wouldn't 
make  the  exchange  because  it  was  irregular;  so  I 
had  to  hunt  up  my  old  friend,  the  great- megtti — 
the  station-master,  you  know  —  hi,  there,  cab  !  cab  ! 
—  jump  in,  Parrish  ! — Russian  consulate,  cabby, 
and  let  them  fly!  —  so,  as  I  say,  that  all  cost  time. 
But  it's  all  right  now,  and  everything  straight; 
/  your  luggage  reweighed,  rechecked,  fare-ticket  and 
sleeper  changed,  and  I've  got  the  documents  for  it  in 
my  pocket;  also  the  change  —  I'll  keep  it  for  you. 
Whoop  along,  cabby,  whoop  along;  don't  let  them 
go  to  sleep!" 

Poor  Parrish  was  trying  his  best  to  get  in  a  word 
edgeways,  as  the  cab  flew  farther  and  farther  from 
the  bilked  beer-hall,  and  now  at  last  he  succeeded, 
and  wanted  to  return  at  once  and  pay  his  little  bill. 

11  Oh,  never  mind  about  that,"  said  the  Major, 
placidly;  "that's  all  right,  they  know  me,  every 
body  knows  me  —  I'll  square  it  next  time  I'm  in 
Berlin  —  push  along,  cabby,  push  along  —  no  great 
lot  of  time  to  spare,  now."J| 

U 


166  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

They  arrived  at  the  Russian  consulate,  a  moment 
after-hours,  and  hurried  in.  No  one  there  but  a 
clerk.  The  Major  laid  his  card  on  the  desk,  and 
said,  in  the  Russian  tongue,  "Now,  then,  if  you'll 
vise  this  young  man's  passport  for  Petersburg  as 
quickly  as  — " 

41  But,  dear  sir,  I'm  not  authorized,  and  the  con 
sul  has  just  gone." 

44  Gone  where?" 

**  Out  in  the  country,  where  he  lives." 

'•And  he'll  be  back—" 

"  Not  till  morning." 

41  Thunder!  Oh,  well,  look  here,  I'm  Major 
Jackson  —  he  knows  me,  everybody  knows  me. 
You  vise  it  yourself;  tell  him  Major  Jackson  asked 
you;  it'll  be  all  right." 

But  it  would  be  desperately  and  fatally  irregular; 
the  clerk  could  not  be  persuaded ;  he  almost  fainted 
at  the  idea. 

44  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  said  the 
Major.  ll  Here's  stamps  and  the  fee  —  vise*  it  in  the 
morning,  and  start  it  along  by  mail." 

The  clerk  said,  dubiously,  4<  He  —  well,  he  may 
perhaps  do  it,  and  so — " 

1 '  May  ?  He  •will!  He  knows  me  —  everybody 
knows  me." 

41  Very  well,"  said  the  clerk,  "  I  will  tell  him  what 
you  say."  He  looked  bewildered,  and  in  a  measure 
subjugated  ;  and  added,  timidly :  44  But  —  but  —  you 


The  Behted  Russian  Passport  167 

know  you  will  beat  it  to  the  frontier  twenty-four 
hours.  There  are  no  accommodations  there  for  so 
long  a  wait." 

4  Who's  going  to  wait?  Not  I,  if  the  court 
knows  herself." 

The  clerk  was  temporarily  paralyzed,  and  said, 
11  Surely,  sir,  you  don't  wish  it  sent  to  Petersburg!" 

44  And  why  not?" 

44  And  the  owner  of  it  tarrying  at  the  frontier, 
twenty-five  miles  away?  It  couldn't  do  him  any 
good,  in  those  circumstances." 

*  Tarry  —  the  mischief !     Who  said  he  was  going 
to  do  any  tarrying?  " 

*  Why,  you  know,  of  course,  they'll  stop  him  at 
the  frontier  if  he  has  no  passport." 

44  Indeed  they  won't !  The  Chief  Inspector  knows 
me  —  everybody  does.  I'll  be  responsible  for  the 
young  man.  You  send  it  straight  through  to  Peters 
burg —  Hotel  de  1'Europe,  care  Major  Jackson :  tell 
the  consul  not  to  worry,  I'm  taking  all  the  risks 
myself." 

The  clerk  hesitated,  then  chanced  one  more 
appeal : 

4  You  must  bear  in  mind,  sir,  that  the  risks  are 
peculiarly  serious,  just  now.  The  new  edict  is  in 
force." 

44  What  is  it?" 

4  Ten  years  in  Siberia  for  being  in  Russia  without 
a  passport." 


168  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

!  "  Mm  —  damnation !"[  He  said  it  in  English,  for 
the  Russian  tongue  is  but\a  poor  stand-by  in  spiritual 
emergencies.  He  mused  ax  moment,  then  brisked 
up  and  resumed  in  Russian:)'4  Oh,  it's  all  right  — 
label  her  St.  Petersburg  and  let  her  sail!  I'll  fix.  it. 
They  all  know  me  there  —  all  the  authorities  — 
everybody." 


III. 


(The  Major  turned  out  to  be  an  adorable  traveling 
companion,  and  young  Parrish  was  charmed  with 
him.  /  His  talk  was  sunshine  and  rainbows,  and  lit 
up  the  whole  region  around,  and  kept  it  gay  and 
happy  and  cheerful ;  and  he  was  full  of  accommoda 
ting  ways,  and  knew  all  about  how  to  do  things,  and 
when  to  do  them,  and  the  best  way.  So  the  long 
journey  was  a  fairy  dream  for  that  young  lad  who 
had  been  so  lonely  and  forlorn  and  friendless  so 
many  homesick  weeks.  At  last,  \when  the  two 
travelers  were  approaching  the  frontier,  Parrish  said 
something  about  passports;  then  started,  as  if  recol 
lecting  something,  and  added : 

**  Why,  come  to  think,  I  don't  remember  your 
bringing  my  passport  away  from  the  consulate. 
But  you  did,  didn't  you?  " 

"  No  ;  it's  coming  by  mail,"  said  the  Major,  com 
fortably. 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  169 

1 '  K  —  coming  —  by  —  mail ! ' '  gasped  the  lad ; 
and  all  the  dreadful  things  he  had  heard  about  the 
terrors  and  disasters  of  passportless  visitors  to 
Russia  rose  in  his  frightened  mind  and  turned  him 
white  to  the  lips.  ) ' '  Oh,  Major  —  oh,  my  goodness, 
what  will  become  of  me  !  How  could  you  do  such  a 
thing?  " 

The  Major  laid  a  soothing  hand  upon  the  youth's 
shoulder  and  said : 

"  Now  don't  you  worry,  my  boy,  don't  you  worry 
a  bit.  I'm  taking  care  of  you,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  let  any  harm  come  to  you.  The  Chief  Inspector 
knows  me,  and  I'll  explain  to  him,  and  it'll  be  all 
right  —  you'll  see.  Now  don't  you  give  yourself 
the  least  discomfort — I'll  fix  it  all  up,  easy  as 
nothing." 

Alfred  trembled,  and  felt  a  great  sinking  inside, 
but  he  did  what  he  could  to  conceal  his  misery,  and 
to  respond  with  some  show  of  heart  to  the  Major's 
kindly  pettings  and  reassurings.) 

At  the  frontier  he  got  out  and  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  great  crowd,  and  waited  in  deep  anxiety 
while  the  Major  plowed  his  way  through  the  mass 
to  "  explain  to  the  Chief  Inspector."  It  seemed  a 
cruelly  long  wait,  but  at  last  the  Major  reappeared. 
He  said,  cheerfully,  '"  Damnation,  it's  a  new  in 
spector,  and  I  don't  know  him  !" 

Alfred  fell  up  against  a  pile  of  trunks,  with  a  des 
pairing,  "  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  might  have  known  it!  " 


, 


170  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 


and  was  slumping  limp  and  helpless  to  the  ground, 
but  the  Major  gathered  him  up  and  seated  him  on  a 
box,  and  sat  down  by  him,  with  a  supporting  arm 
around  him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Don't  worry,  laddie,  don't  —  it's  going  to  be 
afi  right;  you  just  trust  to  me.  The  sub-inspector's 
as  near-sighted  as  a  shad.  I  watched  him,  and  I 
know  it's  so.  Now  I'll  tell  you  how  to  do.  I'll  go 
and  get  my  passport  chalked,  then  I'll  stop  right 
yonder  inside  the  grille  where  you  see  those  peasants 
with  their  packs.  You  be  there,  and  I'll  back  up 
against  the  grille,  and  slip  my  passport  to  you 
through  the  bars,  then  you  tag  along  after  the 
crowd  and  hand  it  in,  and  trust  to  Providence  and 
that  shad.  Mainly  the  shad.  You'll  pull  through 
all  right —  now  don't  you  be  afraid." 

"  But,  oh  dear,  dear,  your  description  and  mine 
don't  tally  any  more  than  — " 

14  Oh,  that's  all  light  —  difference  between  fifty- 
one  and  nineteen  —  just  entirely  imperceptible  to 
that  shad  —  don't  you  fret,  it's  going  to  come  out 
as  right  as  nails." 

Ten  minutes  later  Alfred  was  tottering  toward  the 
train,  pale,  and  in  a  collapse,  but  he  had  played  the 
shad  successfully,  and  was  as  grateful  as  an  un taxed 
dog  that  has  evaded  the  police. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  the  Major,  in  splendid 
spirits.  "  I  knew  it  would  come  out  all  right  if  you 
trusted  in  Providence  like  a  little  trusting  child  and 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  171 

try   to    improve-  o«-~ His- ideas--- it  always 
does." 

Between  the  frontier  and  Petersburg  the  Major  laid 
himself  out  to  restore  his  young  comrade's  life,  and 
work  up  his  circulation,  and  pull  him  out  of  his  des 
pondency,  and  make  him  feel  again  that  life  was  a 
joy  and  worth  living.  And  so,  as  a  consequence^ 
the  young  fellow  entered  the  city  in  high  feather  and 
marched  into  the  hotel  in  Jine_.form,  and  registered 
his  name.  But  instead  of  naming  a  room,  the 
clerk  glanced  at  him  inquiringly,  and  waited.  The 
Major  came  promptly  to  the  rescue,  and  said,  cor 
dially: 

"  It's  all  right — -you  know  me  —  set  him  down, 
I'm  responsible."  The  clerk  looked  grave,  and 
shook  his  head.  The  Major  added  :  "  It's  all  right, 
it'll  be  here  in  twenty-four  hours  —  it's  coming 
by  mail.  Here's  mine,  and  his  is  coming,  right 
along." 

The  clerk  was  full  of  politeness,  full  of  deference, 
but  he  was  firm.  He  said,  in  English: 

"  Indeed,  I  wish  I  could  accommodate  you, 
Major,  and  certainly  I  would  if  I  could ;  but  I  have 
no  choice,  I  must  ask  him  to  go ;  I  cannot  allow  him 
to  remain  in  the  house  a  moment." 

Parrish  began  to  totter,  and  emitted  a  moan ;  the 
Major  caught  him  and  stayed  him  with  an  arm,  and 
said  to  the  clerk,  appealingly : 

"  Come,  you  know  me  —  everybody  does  —  just 


172  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

let  him  stay  here  the  one  night,  and  I  give  you  my 
word-—" 

The  clerk  shook  his  head,  and  said: 

"  But,  Major,  you  are  endangering  me,  you  are 
endangering  the  house.  I  —  I  hate  to  do  such  a 
thing,  but  I  —  I  must  call  the  police." 

"  Hold  on,  don't  do  that.  Come  along,  my  boy, 
and  don't  you  fret  —  it's  going  to  come  out  all 
right.  Hi,  there,  cabby!  Jump  in,  Parrish. 
Palace  of  the  General  of  the  Secret  Police  —  turn 
them  loose,  cabby !  Let  them  go  !  Make  them 
whiz!  Now  we're  off,  and  don't  you  give  yourself 
any  uneasiness.  Prince  Bossloffsky  knows  me; 
knows  me  like  a  book;  he'll  soon  fix  things  all  right 
for  us." 

They  tore  through  the  gay  streets  and  arrived  at 
the  palace,  which  was  brilliantly  lighted.  But  it  was 
half  past  eight;  the  Prince  was  about  going  in  to 
dinner,  the  sentinel  said,  and  couldn't  receive  any 
one. 

11  But  he'll  receive  me"  said  the  Major,  robustly, 
and  handed  his  card.  "  I'm  Major  Jackson.  Send 
it  in;  it'll  be  all  right." 

The  card  was  sent  in,  under  protest,  and  the  Major 
and  his  waif  waited  in  a  reception-room  for  some 
time.  At  length  they  were  sent  for,  and  conducted 
to  a  sumptuous  private  office  and  confronted  with 
the  Prince,  who  stood  there  gorgeously  arrayed  and 
frowning  like  a  thunder-cloud ,  '  The  Major  stated 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  173 

his  case,  and  begged  for  a  twenty-four-hour  stay  of 
proceedings  until  the  passport  should  be  forthcom 
ing. 

"  Oh,  impossible!"  said  the  Prince,  in  faultless 
English.  "  I  marvel  that  you  should  have  done  so 
insane  a  thing  as  to  bring  the  lad  into  the  country 
without  a  passport,  Major,  I  marvel  at  it;  why,  it's 
ten  years  in  Siberia,  and  no  help  for  it  —  catch  him  ! 
support  him !"  for  poor  Parrish  was  making  another 
trip  to  the  floor.  "Here  —  quick,  give  him  this. 
There  —  take  another  draught;  brandy's  the  thing, 
don't  you  find  it  so,  lad?  Now  you  feel  better,  poor 
fellow.  Lie  down  on  the  sofa.  How  stupid  it  was 
of  you,  Major,  to  get  him  into  such  a  horrible 
scrape." 

The  Major  eased  the  boy  down  with  his  strong 
arms,  put  a  cushion  under  his  head,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear: 

14  Look  as  damned  sick  as  you  can  !  Play  it  for 
all  it's  worth;  he's  touched,  you  see;  got  a  tender 
heart  under  there  somewhere;  fetch  a  groan,  and 
say,  *  Oh,  mamma,  mamma  ' ;  it'll  knock  him  out, 
sure  as  guns." 

Parrish  was  going  to  do  these  things  anyway, 
from  native  impulse,  so  they  came  from  him 
promptly,  with  great  and  moving  sincerity,  and  the 
Major  whispered  :  "  Splendid!  Do  it  again;  Bern- 
hardt  couldn't  beat  it." 

What  with  the  Major's  eloquence  and  the  boy's 


174  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

misery,  the  point  was  gained  at  last;  the  Prince 
struck  his  colors,  and  said : 

11  Have  it  your  way;  though  you  deserve  a  sharp 
lesson  and  you  ought  to  get  it.  I  give  you  exactly 
twenty-four  hours.  If  the  passport  is  not  here 
then,  don't  come  near  me;  it's  Siberia  without  hope 
of  pardon. " 

While  the  Major  and  the  lad  poured  out  their 
thanks,  the  Prince  rang  in  a  couple  of  soldiers,  and 
in  their  own  language  he  ordered  them  to  go  with 
these  two  people,  and  not  lose  sight  of  the  younger 
one  a  moment  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours ;  and 
if,  at  the  end  of  that  term,  the  boy  could  not  show  a 
passport,  impound  him  in  the  dungeons  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  and  report. 

The  unfortunates  arrived  at  the  hotel  with  their 
guards,  dined  under  their  eyes,  remained  in  Parrish's 
room  until  the  Major  went  off  to  bed,  after  cheering 
up  the  said  Parrish,  then  one  of  the  soldiers  locked 
himself  and  Parrish  in,  and  the  other  one  stretched 
himself  across  the  door  outside  and  soon  went  off  to 
sleep. 

So  also  did  not  Alfred  Parrish.  The  moment  he 
was  alone  with  the  solemn  soldier  and  the  voiceless 
silence  his  machine-made  cheerfulness  began  to  waste 
away,  his  medicated  courage  began  to  give  off  its 
supporting  gases  and  shrink  toward  normal,  and  his 
poor  little  heart  to  shrivel  like  a  raisin.  Within 
thirty  minutes  he  struck  bottom;  grief,  misery, 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  175 

fright,  despair,  could  go  no  lower.  Bed?  Bed  was 
not  for  such  as  he;  bed  was  not  for  the  doomed,  the 
lost!  Sleep?  He  was  not  the  Hebrew  children,  he 
could  not  sleep  in  the  fire !  He  could  only  walk 
the  floor.  And  not  only  could,  but  must.  And  did, 
by  the  hour.  And  mourned,  and  wept,  and  shud 
dered,  and  prayed. 

Then  ail-sorrowfully  he  made  his  last  dispositions, 
and  prepared  himself,  as  well  as  in  him  lay,  to  meet 
his  fate.  As  a  final  act,  he  wrote  a  letter : 

"  MY  DARLING  MOTHER, —  When  these  sad  lines 
shall  have  reached  you  your  poor  Alfred  will  be  no 
more.  No ;  worse  than  that,  far  worse  !  Through 
my  own  fault  and  foolishness  I  have  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  a  sharper  or  a  lunatic ;  I  do  not  know 
which,  but  in  either  case  I  feel  that  I  am  lost. 
Sometimes  I  think  he  is  a  sharper,  but  most  of  the 
time  I  think  he  is  only  mad,  for  he  has  a  kind,  good 
heart,  I  know,  and  he  certainly  seems  to  try  the 
hardest  that  ever  a  person  tried  to  get  me  out  of  the 
fatal  difficulties  he  has  gotten  me  into. 

"  In  a  few  hours  I  shall  be  one  of  a  nameless 
horde  plodding  the  snowy  solitudes  of  Russia,  under 
the  lash,  and  bound  for  that  land  of  mystery  and 
misery  and  termless  oblivion,  Siberia!  I  shall  not 
live  to  see  it;  my  heart  is  broken  and  I  shall  die. 
Give  my  picture  to  her,  and  ask  her  to  keep  it  in 
memory  of  me,  and  to  so  live  that  in  the  appointed 
time  she  may  join  me  m  that  better  world  where 


176  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

there  is  no  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage,  and 
where  there  are  no  more  separations,  and  troubles 
never  come.  Give  my  yellow  dog  to  Archy  Hale, 
and  the  other  one  to  Henry  Taylor;  my  blazer  I 
give  to  brother  Will,  and  my  fishing  things  and 
Bible. 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  me.  I  cannot  escape; 
the  soldier  stands  there  with  his  gun  and  never  takes 
his  eyes  off  me,  just  blinks ;  there  is  no  other  move 
ment,  any  more  than  if  he  was  dead.  I  cannot  bribe 
him,  the  maniac  has  my  money.  My  letter  of  credit 
is  in  my  trunk,  and  may  never  come  —  will  never 
come,  I  know.  Oh,  what  is  to  become  of  me ! 
Pray  for  me,  darling  mother,  pray  for  your  poor 
Alfred.  But  it  will  do  no  good.'O 


IV. 

"l|v  f?4 

In  the  morning  Alfred  came  out  looking  scraggy 

and  worn  when  the  Major  summoned  him  to  an 
early  breakfast.  They  fed  their  guards,  they  lit 
cigars,  the  Major  loosened  his  tongue  and  set  it  go 
ing,  and  under  its  magic  influence  Alfred  gradually 
and  gratefully  became  hopeful,  measurably  cheerful, 
and  almost  happy  once  more. 

But  he  would  not  leave  the  house.  Siberia  hung 
over  him  black  and  threatening,  /'  his  appetite  for 
sights  was  all  gone,  he  could  not  have  borne  the 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  177 

shame  of  inspecting  streets  and  galleries  and  churches 
with  a  soldier  at  each  elbow  and  all  the  world  stop 
ping  and  staring  and  commenting  —  no,  he  would 
stay  within  and  wait  for  the  Berlin  mail  and  his  fate. 
So,  all  day  long  the  Major  stood  gallantly  by  him 
in  his  room,  with  one  soldier  standing  stiff  and 
motionless  against  the  door  with  his  musket  at  his 
shoulder,  and  the  other  one  drowsing  in  a  chair  out 
side;  and  all  day  long  the  faithful  veteran  spun 
campaign  yarns,  described  battles,  reeled  off  explo 
sive  anecdotes,  with  unconquerable  energy  and 
sparkle  and  resolution,  and  kept  the  scared  student 
alive  and  his  pulses  functioning.  JThe  long  day  wore 
to  a  close,  and  the  pair,  followed  by  their  guards, 
went  down  to  the  great  dining-room  and  took  their 
seats. 

4  The  suspense  will  be  over  before  long,  now," 
sighed  poor  Alfred. 

Just  then  a  pair  of  Englishmen  passed  by,  and  one 
of  them  said,  '*  So  we'll  get  no  letters  from  Berlin 
to-night." 

Parrish's  breath  began  to  fail  him.  The  English 
men  seated  themselves  at  a  near-by  table,  and  the 
other  one  said : 

11  No,  it  isn't  as  bad  as  that."  Parrish's  breath 
ing  improved.  "  There  is  later  telegraphic  news. 
The  accident  did  detain  the  train  formidably,  but 
that  is  all.  It  will  arrive  here  three  hours  late  to 
night." 


178  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

Parrish  did  not  get  to  the  floor  this  time,  for  the 
Major  jumped  for  him  in  time.  He  had  been  listen 
ing,  and  foresaw  what  would  happen.  He  patted 
Parrish  on  the  back,  hoisted  him  out  of  his  chair, 
and  said,  cheerfully: 

"  Come  along,  my  boy,  cheer  up,  there's  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  worry  about.  I  know  a  way  out. 
Bother  the  passport;  let  it  lag  a  week  if  it  wants 
to,  we  can  do  without  it." 

Parrish  was  too  sick  to  hear  him;  hope  was  gone, 
Siberia  present;  he  moved  off  on  legs  of  lead,  up 
held  by  the  Major,  who  walked  him  to  the  American 
legation,  heartening  him  on  the  way  with  assurances 
that  on  his  recommendation  the  minister  wouldn't 
hesitate  a  moment  to  grant  him  a  new  passport.  \ 

"  I  had  that  card  up  my  sleeve  all  the  time,"  he 
said.  '  The  minister  knows  me  —  knows  me  famil 
iarly  -(—  chummed  together  hours  and  hours  under  a 
pile  of  other  wounded  at  Cold  Harbor ;  been  chum- 
mies  ever  since,  in  spirit,  though  we  haven't  met 
much  in  the  body.  Cheer  up,  laddie,  everything's 
looking  splendid  !  By  gracious  !  I  feel  as  cocky  as 
a  buck  angel.  Here  we  are,  and  our  troubles  are  at 
an  end !  If  we  ever  really  had  any/* 

There,  alongside  the  door,  was  the  trade-mark  of 
the  richest  and  freest  and  mightiest  republic  of  all 
the  ages:  the  pine  disk,  with  the  planked  eagle 
spread  upon  it,  his  head  and  shoulders  among  the 
stars,  and  his  claws  full  of  out-of-date  war  material; 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  179 

and  at  that  sight  the  tears  came  into  Alfred's  eyes, 
the  pride  of  country  rose  in  his  heart,  Hail  Columbia 
boomed  up  in  his  breast,  and  all  his  fears  and  sor 
rows  vanished  away;  for  here  he  was  safe,  safe!  not 
all  the  powers  of  the  earth  would  venture  to  cross 
that  threshold  to  lay  a  hand  upon  him ! 

For  economy's  sake  the  mightiest  republic's  lega 
tions  in  Europe  consist  of  a  room  and  a  half  on  the 
ninth  floor,  when  the  tenth  is  occupied,  and  the  lega 
tion  furniture  consists  of  a  minister  or  an  ambassador 
with  a  brakeman's  salary,  a  secretary  of  legation 
who  sells  matches  and  mends  crockery  for  a  living, 
a  hired  girl  for  interpreter  and  general  utility, 
pictures  of  the  American  liners,  a  chromo  of  the 
reigning  President,  a  desk,  three  chairs,  kerosene- 
lamp,  a  cat,  a  clock,  and  a  cuspidor  with  motto, 
"  In  God  We  Trust." 

The  party  climbed  up  there,  followed  by  the 
escort.  A  man  sat  at  the  desk  writing  official  things 
on  wrapping-paper  with  a  nail.  He  rose  and  faced 
about;  the  cat  climbed  down  and  got  under  the 
desk;  the  hired  girl  squeezed  herself  up  into  the 
corner  by  the  vodka-jug  to  make  room ;  the  soldiers 
squeezed  themselves  up  against  the  wall  alongside 
of  her,  with  muskets  at  shoulder  arms.j  Alfred  was 
radiant  with  happiness  and  the  sense  of  rescue. ' 

•r'TTt 

The  Major  cordially  shook  hands  with  the  official, 
rattled  off  his  case  in  easy  and  fluent  style,  and  asked 
for  the  desired  passport. 


180  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

'  The  official  seated  his  guests,  then  said:  "Well, 
I  am  only  the  secretary  of  legation,  you  know,  and 
I  wouldn't  like  to  grant  a  passport  while  the  minister 
is  on  Russian  soil.  There  is  far  too  much  responsi 
bility." 

4 'All  right,  send  for  him." 

The  secretary  smiled,  and  said:  "That's  easier 
said  than  done.  He's  away  up  in  the  wilds,  some 
where,  on  his  vacation." 

"  Ger-reat  Scott!"  ejaculated  the  Major. 

Alfred  groaned ;  the  color  went  out  of  his  face, 
and  he  began  to  slowly  collapse  in  his  clothes.  The 
secretary  said,  wonderingly: 

"  Why,  what  are  you  Great-Scotting  about, 
Major?  The  Prince  gave  you  twenty-four  hours. 
Look  at  the  clock;  you're  all  right;  you've  half  an 
hour  left;  the  train  is  just  due;  the  passport  will 
arrive  in  time." 

"  Man,  there's  news!  The  train  is  three  hours 
behind  time!  This  boy's  life  and  liberty  are  wast 
ing  away  by  minutes,  and  only  thirty  of  them  left ! 
In  half  an  hour  he's  the  same  as  dead  and  damned 
to  all  eternity !  By  God,  we  mtist  have  the  pass 
port!" 

"  Oh,  I  am  dying,  I  know  it!"  wailed  the  lad, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms  on  the  desk.  A 
quick  change  came  over  the  secretary,  his  placidity 
vanished  away,  excitement  flamed  up  in  his  face  and 
eyes,  and  he  exclaimed : 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  181 

"  I  see  the  whole  ghastliness  of  the  situation,  but, 
Lord  help  us,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  you 
suggest?" 

44  Why,  hang  it,  give  him  the  passport!" 

4 '  Impossible !  totally  impossible !  You  know 
nothing  about  him ;  three  days  ago  you  had  never 
heard  of  him;  there's  no  way  in  the  world  to  identify 
him.  He  is  lost,  lost  —  there's  no  possibility  of  sav 
ing  him ! ' ' 

The  boy  groaned  again,  and  sobbed  out,  "  Lord, 
Lord,  it's  the  last  of  earth  for  Alfred  Parrish !" 

Another  change  came  over  the  secretary. 
\  In  the  midst  of  a  passionate  outburst  of  pity,  vex 
ation,  and  hopelessness,  he  stopped  short,  his  man 
ner  calmed  down,  and  he  asked,  in  the  indifferent 
voice  which  one  uses  in  introducing  the  subject  of 
the  weather  when  there  is  nothing  to  talk  about,'  "  Is 
that  your  name?" 

The  youth  sobbed  out  a  yes. 

44  Where  are  you  from?" 

44  Bridgeport." 

The  secretary  shook  his  head  —  shook  it  again  — • 
and  muttered  to  himself.  After  a  moment : 

4 'Born  there?" 

44  No;  New  Haven." 

44  Ah-h."  The  secretary  glanced  at  the  Major, 
who  was  listening  intently,  with  blank  and  unenlight 
ened  face,  and  indicated  rather  than  said,  44  There  is 
vodka  there,  in  case  the  soldiers  are  thirsty."  The 

12 


182  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

Major    sprang   up,   poured  for  them,   and  received 
their  gratitude.     The  questioning  went  on. 

"  How  long  did  you  live  in  New  Haven?" 
1  Till  I  was  fourteen.     Came  back  two  years  ago 
to  enter  Yale." 

"  When  you  lived  there,  what  street  did  you  live 
on?" 

"Parker  Street." 

lvWith  a  vague  half-light  of  comprehension  dawning 
in  his  eye,  the  Major  glanced  an  inquiry  at  the  sec 
retary.  The  secretary  nodded,  the  Major  poured 
vodka  again. 

41  What  number?" 

"  It  hadn't  any." 

The  boy  sat  up  and  gave  the  secretary  a  pathetic 
look  which  said,  "  Why  do  you  want  to  torture  me 
with  these  foolish  things,  when  I  am  miserable 
enough  without  it?" 

The  secretary  went  on,  unheeding:  "  What  kind 
of  a  house  was  it?" 

"  Brick  —  two  story." 

"  Flush  with  the  sidewalk?" 

"  No,  small  yard  in  front/' 

•'Iron  fence?" 

"  No,  palings." 

The  Major  poured  vodka  again  —  without  instruc 
tions  —  poured  brimmers  this  time ;  and  his  face  had 
cleared  and  was  alive  now. 

'*  What  do  you  see  when  you  enter  the  door?" 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport  183 

"A  narrow  hall;  door  at  the  end  of  it,  and  a 

door  at  your  right." 

41  Anything  else?" 

"  Hat-rack." 

41  Room  at  the  right?" 

4 'Parlor." 

4 'Carpet?" 

4<  Yes." 

44  Kind  of  carpet?" 

''Old-fashioned  Wilton." 

"Figures?" 

"  Yes  —  hawking-party,  horseback." 

The  Major  cast  an  eye  at  the  clock  —  only  six 
minutes  left !  /  He  faced  about  with  the  jug,  and  as 
he  poured  he  glanced  at  the  secretary,  then  at  the 
clock  —  inquiringly.  The  secretary  nodded ;  the 
Major  covered  the  clock  from  view  with  his  body  a 
moment,  and  set  the  hands  back  half  an  hour;  then 
he  refreshed  the  men  —  double  rations.^ 
4  Room  beyond  the  hall  and  hat-rack?" 

14  Dining-room." 

€i  Stove?" 

"  Grate." 

84  Did  your  people  own  the  house?" 

44  Yes." 

"  Do  they  own  it  yet?" 

"  No;  sold  it  when  we  moved  to  Bridgeport." 

The  secretary  paused  a  little,  then  said,  44  Did  you 
have  a  nickname  among  your  playmates?" 


184  The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

,  The  color  slowly  rose  in  the  youth's  pale  cheeks, 
and  he  dropped  his  eyes.  He  seemed  to  struggle 
with  himself  a  moment  or  two,  then  he  said,  plain 
tively,  "'They  called  me  Miss  Nancy." 

The  secretary  mused  awhile,  then  he  dug  up 
another  question: 

"  Any  ornaments  in  the  dining-room?*' 

"Well,  y  —  no." 

"None?     None  at  all?" 

"No." 
/"  The  mischief !     Isn't  that  a  little  odd?    Think!" 

The  youth  thought  and  thought;  the  secretary 
waited,  slightly  panting.  At  last  the  imperiled  waif 
looked  up  sadly  and  shook  his  head.; 

'Think  —  think!"    cried  the  Major  i  in  anxious 
solicitude;   and  poured  again. 

1 '  Come  ! ' '  said  the  secretary,  ' '  not  even  a 
picture?" 

"  Oh,  certainly!   but  you  said  ornament." 

"  Ah !     What  did  your  father  think  of  it?" 

The  color  rose  again.     The  boy  was  silent. 

"  Speak,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  Speak,"  cried  the  Major,  and  his  trembling  hand 
poured  more  vodka  outside  the  glasses  than  inside. 

"I  —  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  said,"  murmured 
the  boy. 

"Quick!  quick!"  said  the  secretary;  "  out  with 
it;  there's  no  time  to  lose  —  home  and  liberty  or 
Sibera  and  death  depend  upon  the  answer/" 


The  Belated  Russian  Passport 

11  Oh,  have  pity!  he  is  a  clergyman,  and — " 

"  No  matter;  out  with  it,  or  — " 

1 '  He  said  it  was  the  hellfi  redest  nightmare  he  ever 
struck!" 

' '  Saved  ! ' '  shouted  the  secretary,  and  seized  his 
nail  and  a  blank  passport.  "7  identify  you;  I've 
lived  in  the  house,  and  I  painted  the  picture  my 
self!" 

"  Oh,  come  to  my  arms,  my  poor  rescued  boy!" 
cried  the  Major.  '  We  will  always  be  grateful  to 
God  that  He  made  this  artist !  —  if  He  did." 


TWO  LITTLE  TALES 

FIRST  STORY:  THE  MAN  WITH  A  MESSAGE  FOR  THE 
DIRECTOR-GENERAL 

SOME  days  ago,  in  this  second  month  of  1900, 
a  friend  made  an  afternoon  call  upon  me  here 
in  London.  We  are  of  that  age  when  men  who  are 
smoking  away  their  time  in  chat  do  not  talk  quite  so 
much  about  the  pleasantnesses  of  life  as  about  its 
exasperations.  By  and  by  this  friend  began  to 
abuse  the  War  Office.  It  appeared  that  he  had  a 
friend  who  had  been  inventing  something  which 
could  be  made  very  useful  to  the  soldiers  in  South 
Africa.  It  was  a  light  and  very  cheap  and  durable 
boot,  which  would  remain  dry  in  wet  weather,  and 
keep  its  shape  and  firmness.  The  inventor  wanted 
to  get  the  government's  attention  called  to  it,  but  he 
was  an  unknown  man  and  knew  the  great  officials 
would  pay  no  heed  to  a  message  from  him. 

1  This  shows  that  he  was  an  ass  —  like  the  rest  of 
us,"  I  said,  interrupting.  "  Go  on." 

"But  why  have  you  said  that?  The  man  spoke 
the  truth." 

"  The  man  spoke  a  lie.     Go  on." 

"  I  vt\\\  prove  that  he — " 

(186) 


Two  Little  Tales  187 

'You  can't  prove  anything  of  the  kind.  I  am 
very  old  and  very  wise.  You  must  not  argue  with 
me:  it  is  irreverent  and  offensive.  Goon." 

'  Very  well.  But  you  will  presently  see.  I  am 
not  unknown,  yet  even  /  was  not  able  to  get  the 
man's  message  to  the  Director-General  of  the  Shoe- 
Leather  Department." 

'  This  is  another  lie.      Pray  go  on." 

"  But  I  assure  you  on  my  honor  that  I  failed." 

"  Oh,  certainly.  I  knew  that.  You  didn't  need 
to  tell  me." 

"Then  where  is  the  lie?" 

"It  is  in  your  intimation  that  you  were  not  able 
to  get  the  Director-General's  immediate  attention  to 
the  man's  message.  It  is  a  lie,  because  you  could 
have  gotten  his  immediate  attention  to  it." 

"I  tell  you  I  couldn't.  In  three  months  I 
haven't  accomplished  it." 

"  Certainly.  Of  course.  I  could  know  that  with 
out  your  telling  me.  You  could  have  gotten  his  im 
mediate  attention  if  you  had  gone  at  it  in  a  sane 
way;  and  so  could  the  other  man." 

"  I  did  go  at  it  in  a  sane  way." 

"You  didn't." 

"  How  do  you  know?  What  do  you  know  about 
the  circumstances?" 

"Nothing  at  all.  But  you  didn't  go  at  it  in  a 
sane  way.  That  much  I  know  to  a  certainty." 

"  How  can  you  know  it,  when  you  don't  knovw 
what  method  I  used  ?  ' ' 


188  Two  Little  Tales 

"I  know  by  the  result.  The  result  is  perfect 
proof.  You  went  at  it  in  an  insane  way.  I  am 
very  old  and  very  w — " 

41  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  But  will  you  let  me  tell  you 
how  I  proceeded?  I  think  that  will  settle  whether 
it  was  insanity  or  not." 

"  No;  that  has  already  been  settled.  But  go  on, 
since  you  so  desire  to  expose  yourself.  I  am 
very  o — " 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
courteous  letter  to  the  Director-General  of  the  Shoe- 
Leather  Department,  explai— 

44  Do  you  know  him  personally?  " 

44No." 

4  You  have  scored  one  for  my  side.     You  began 
insanely.      Go  on." 

44  In  the  letter  I  made  the  great  value  and  inex- 
pensiveness  of  the  invention  clear,  and  offered  to  — 

44  Call  and  see  him?  Of  course  you  did.  Score 
two  against  yourself.  I  am  v — " 

44  He  didn't  answer  for  three  days." 

4 'Necessarily.     Proceed." 

44  Sent  me  three  gruff  lines  thanking  rne  for  my 
trouble,  and  proposing — " 

4 'Nothing." 

4  That's  it  —  proposing  nothing.  Then  I  wrote 
him  more  elaborately  and — " 

44  Score  three—" 

44  — and  got  no  answer.  At  the  end  of  a  week  I 
wrote  and  asked,  with  some  touch  of  asperity,  for 
an  answer  to  that  letter." 


Two  Little  Tales  189 

"  Four.     Go  on." 

1 '  An  answer  came  back  saying  the  letter  had  not 
been  received,  and  asking  for  a  copy.  I  traced  the 
letter  through  the  post-office,  and  found  that  it  had 
been  received ;  but  I  sent  a  copy  and  said  nothing. 
Two  weeks  passed  without  further  notice  of  me.  In 
the  mean  time  I  gradually  got  myself  cooled  down  to 
a  polite-letter  temperature.  Then  I  wrote  and  pro 
posed  an  interview  for  next  day,  and  said  that  if  I 
did  not  hear  from  him  in  the  mean  time  I  should  take 
his  silence  for  assent." 

11  Score  five." 

"  I  arrived  at  twelve  sharp,  and  was  given  a  chair 
in  the  anteroom  and  told  to  wait.  I  waited  until 
half-past  one ;  then  I  left,  ashamed  and  angry.  I 
waited  another  week,  to  cool  down;  then  I  wrote 
and  made  another  appointment  with  him  for  next 
day  noon." 

"  Score  six." 

"  He  answered,  assenting.  I  arrived  promptly, 
and  kept  a  chair  warm  until  half-past  two.  I  left 
then,  and  shook  the  dust  of  that  place  from  my 
shoes  for  good  and  all.  For  rudeness,  inefficiency, 
incapacity,  indifference  to  the  army's  interests,  the 
Director-General  of  the  Shoe-Leather  Department 
of  the  War  Office  is,  in  my  o — " 

"  Peace !  I  am  very  old  and  very  wise,  and  have 
seen  many  seemingly  intelligent  people  who  hadn't 
common  sense  enough  to  go  at  a  simple  and  easy 
thing  like  this  in  a  common-sense  way.  You  are 


190  Two  Little  Tales 

not  a  curiosity  to  me;  I  have  personally  known 
millions  and  billions  like  you.  You  have  lost  three 
months  quite  unnecessarily;  the  inventor  has  lost 
three  months ;  the  soldiers  have  lost  three  —  nine 
months  altogether.  I  will  now  read  you  a  little 
tale  which  I  wrote  last  night.  Then  you  will  call  on 
the  Director-General  at  noon  to-morrow  and  transact 
your  business." 

**  Splendid  !      Do  you  know  him?  " 

44  No;   but  listen  to  the  tale." 

SECOND  STORY :  HOW  THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP  GOT  THE 
EAR  OF  THE  EMPEROR 

I 

Summer  was  come,  and  all  the  strong  were  bowed 
by  the  burden  of  the  awful  heat,  and  many  of  the 
weak  were  prostrate  and  dying.  For  weeks  the 
army  had  been  wasting  away  with  a  plague  of 
dysentery,  that  scourge  of  the  soldier,  and  there 
was  but  little  help.  The  doctors  were  in  despair; 
such  efficacy  as  their  drugs  and  their  science  had 
once  had  —  and  it  was  not  much  at  its  best  — was  a 
thing  of  the  past,  and  promised  to  remain  so. 

The  Emperor  commanded  the  physicians  of  great 
est  renown  to  appear  before  him  for  a  consultation, 
for  he  was  profoundly  disturbed.  He  was  very 
severe  with  them,  and  called  them  to  account  for 
letting  his  soldiers  die :  and  asked  them  if  they  knew 
their  trade,  or  didn't;  and  were  they  properly  heal 
ers,  or  merely  assassins?  Then  the  principal  assassin, 


Two  Little  Tales  191 

who  was  also  the  oldest  doctor  in  the  land  and  the 
most  venerable  in  appearance,  answered  and  said : 

"We  have  done  what  we  could,  your  Majesty, 
and  for  a  good  reason  it  has  been  little.  No  medi 
cine  and  no  physician  can  cure  that  disease;  only 
nature  and  a  good  constitution  can  do  it.  I  am  old, 
and  I  know.  No  doctor  and  no  medicine  can  cure 
it  —  I  repeat  it  and  I  emphasize  it.  Sometimes  they 
seem  to  help  nature  a  little, —  a  very  little, —  but  as 
a  rule,  they  merely  do  damage." 

The  Emperor  was  a  profane  and  passionate  man, 
and  he  deluged  the  doctors  with  rugged  and  un 
familiar  names,  and  drove  them  from  his  presence. 

Within  a  day  he  was  attacked  by  that  fell  disease 
himself.  The  news  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  carried  consternation  with  it  over  all  the  land. 

All  the  talk  was  about  this  awful  disaster,  and 
there  was  general  depression,  for  few  had  hope. 
The  Emperor  himself  was  very  melancholy,  and 
sighed  and  said : 

'The  will  of  God  be  done.     Send  for  the  assas 
sins  again,  and  let  us  get  over  with  it." 

They  came,  and  felt  his  pulse  and  looked  at  his 
tongue,  and  fetched  the  drug  store  and  emptied  it 
into  him,  and  sat  down  patiently  to  wait  —  for  they 
were  not  paid  by  the  job,  but  by  the  year. 

II 

Tommy  was  sixteen  and  a  bright  lad,  but  he  was 
not  in  society.  His  rank  was  too  humble  for  that, 


192  Two  Little  Tales 

and  his  employment  too  base.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
lowest  of  all  employments,  for  he  was  second  in 
command  to  his  father,  who  emptied  cesspools  and 
drove  a  night-cart.  Tommy's  closest  friend  was 
Jimmy  the  chimney-sweep,  a  slim  little  fellow  of 
fourteen,  who  was  honest  and  industrious,  and  had  a 
good  heart,  and  supported  a  bedridden  mother  by 
his  dangerous  and  unpleasant  trade. 

About  a  month  after  the  Emperor  fell  ill,  these 
two  lads  met  one  evening  about  nine.  Tommy  was 
on  his  way  to  his  night-work,  and  of  course  was  not 
in  his  Sundays,  but  in  his  dreadful  work-clothes,  and 
not  smelling  very  well.  Jimmy  was  on  his  way 
home  from  his  day's  labor,  and  was  blacker  than 
any  other  object  imaginable,  and  he  had  his  brushes 
on  his  shoulder  and  his  soot-bag  at  his  waist,  and  no 
feature  of  his  sable  face  was  distinguishable  except 
his  lively  eyes. 

They  sat  down  on  the  curbstone  to  talk ;  and  of 
course  it  was  upon  the  one  subject  —  the  nation's 
calamity,  the  Emperor's  disorder.  Jimmy  was  full  of 
a  great  project,  and  burning  to  unfold  it.  He  said : 
'  Tommy,  I  can  cure  his  Majesty.  I  know  how 
to  do  it." 

Tommy  was  surprised. 

"What!     You?" 

"Yes,  I." 

"  Why,  you  little  fool,  the  best  doctors  can't." 

"I  don't  care:  I  can  do  it.  I  can  cure  him  in 
fifteen  minutes." 


Two  Little  Tales  193 

"  Oh,  come  off!     What  are  you  giving  me?'* 

"The  facts  — that's  all." 

Jimmy's  manner  was  so  serious  that  it  sobered 
Tommy,  who  said : 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  earnest,  Jimmy.  Are  you 
in  earnest?  " 

11 1  give  you  my  word." 

"  What  is  the  plan?     How'll  you  cure  him?  " 
'  Tell  him  to  eat  a  slice  of  ripe  watermelon." 

It  caught  Tommy  rather  suddenly,  and  he  was 
shouting  v/ith  laughter  at  the  absurdity  of  the  idea 
before  he  could  put  on  a  stopper.  But  he  sobered 
down  when  he  saw  that  Jimmy  was  wounded.  He 
patted  Jimmy's  knee  affectionately,  not  minding  the 
soot,  and  said : 

"I  take  the  laugh  all  back.  I  didn't  mean  any 
harm,  Jimmy,  and  I  won't  do  it  again.  You  see,  it 
seemed  so  funny,  because  wherever  there's  a  soldier- 
camp  and  dysentery,  the  doctors  always  put  up  a 
sign  saying  anybody  caught  bringing  watermelons 
there  will  be  flogged  with  the  cat  till  he  can't  stand." 

"  I  know  it  —  the  idiots !  "  said  Jimmy,  with  both 
tears  and  anger  in  his  voice.  '  There's  plenty  of 
watermelons,  and  not  one  of  all  those  soldiers  ought 
to  have  died." 

1 '  But,  Jimmy,  what  put  the  notion  into  your  head  ? ' ' 

"It  isn't  a  notion;  it's  a  fact.  Do  you  know 
that  old  gray-headed  Zulu?  Well,  this  long  time 
back  he  has  been  curing  a  lot  of  our  friends,  and 

my  mother  has  seen  him  do  it,  and  so  have  I.     It 
13 


194  Two  Little  Tales 

takes  only  one  or  two  slices  of  melon,  and  it  don't 
make  any  difference  whether  the  disease  is  new  or 
old;  it  cures  it." 

;<  It's  very  odd.  But,  Jimmy,  if  it  is  so,  the 
Emperor  ought  to  be  told  of  it." 

"Of  course;  and  my  mother  has  told  people, 
hoping  they  could  get  the  word  to  him ;  but  they 
are  poor  working-folks  and  ignorant,  and  don't 
know  how  to  manage  it." 

"Of  course  they  don't,  the  blunderheads,"  said 
Tommy,  scornfully.  "  /'//  get  it  to  him  !  " 

"You?  You  night-cart  polecat!"  And  it  was 
Jimmy's  turn  to  laugh.  But  Tommy  retorted 
sturdily : 

"  Oh,  laugh  if  you  like;   but  I'll  do  it!  " 

It  had  such  an  assured  and  confident  sound  that  it 
made  an  impression,  and  Jimmy  asked  gravely: 

"  Do  you  know  the  Emperor?  " 

"Do  /  know  him?  Why,  how  you  talk!  Of 
course  I  don't." 

"Then  how'll  you  do  it?" 

"It's  very  simple  and  very  easy.  Guess.  How 
would  you  do  it,  Jimmy?  " 

"  Send  him  a  letter.  I  never  thought  of  it  till 
this  minute.  But  I'll  bet  that's  your  way." 

"I'll  bet  it  ain't.  Tell  me,  how  would  you 
send  it?" 

"  Why,  through  the  mail,  of  course." 

Tommy  overwhelmed  him  with  scoffings,  and  said  : 

"  Now,  don't  you    suppose    every    crank    in   the 


Two  Little  Tales  195 

empire  is  doing  the  same  thing?     Do  you  mean  to 
say  you  haven't  thought  of  that?  " 

''Well  —  no,"  said  Jimmy,  abashed. 
*  You  might  have  thought  of  it,  if  you  weren't  so 
young  and  inexperienced.  Why,  Jimmy,  when  even 
a  common  general,  or  a  poet,  or  an  actor,  or  any 
body  that's  a  little  famous  gets  sick,  all  the  cranks 
in  the  kingdom  load  up  the  mails  with  certain-sure 
quack  cures  for  him.  And  so,  what's  bound  to 
happen  when  it's  the  Emperor?  " 

'  I  suppose  it's  worse,"  said  Jimmy,  sheepishly. 
'Well,  I  should  think  so!  Look  here,  Jimmy: 
every  single  night  we  cart  off  as  many  as  six  loads 
of  that  kind  of  letters  from  the  back  yard  of  the 
palace,  where  they're  thrown.  Eighty  thousand 
letters  in  one  night !  Do  you  reckon  anybody 
reads  them?  Sho !  not  a  single  one.  It's  what 
would  happen  to  your  letter  if  you  wrote  it  —  which 
you  won't,  I  reckon?  " 

"  No,"  sighed  Jimmy,  crushed. 

"But  it's  all  right,  Jimmy.  Don't  you  fret: 
there's  more  than  one  way  to  skin  a  cat.  /'//  get 
the  word  to  him." 

11  Oh,  if  you  only  could,  Tommy,  I  should  love 
you  forever  !  ' ' 

"  I'll  do  it,  I  tell  you.  Don't  you  worry;  you 
depend  on  me." 

14  Indeed  I  will,  Tommy,  for  you  do  know  so 
much.  You're  not  like  other  boys:  they  never 
know  anything.  How  il  you  manage,  Tommy?  " 


196  Two  Little  Tales 

Tommy  was  greatly  pleased.  He  settled  himself 
for  reposeful  talk,  and  said : 

"  Do  you  know  that  ragged  poor  thing  that  thinks 
he's  a  butcher  because  he  goes  around  with  a  basket 
and  sells  cat's  meat  and  rotten  livers?  Well,  to 
begin  with,  I'll  tell  him." 

Jimmy  was  deeply  disappointed  and  chagrined, 
and  said : 

"Now,  Tommy,  it's  a  shame  to  talk  so.  You 
know  my  heart's  in  it,  and  it's  not  right." 

Tommy  gave  him  a  love-pat,  and  said : 

"Don't  you  be  troubled,  Jimmy.  /  know  what 
I'm  about.  Pretty  soon  you'll  see.  That  half- 
breed  butcher  will  tell  the  old  woman  that  sells 
chestnuts  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  —  she's  his  closest 
friend,  and  I'll  ask  him  to;  then,  by  request,  she'll 
tell  her  rich  aunt  that  keeps  the  little  fruit-shop  on 
the  corner  two  blocks  above ;  and  that  one  will  tell 
her  particular  friend,  the  man  that  keeps  the  game- 
shop  ;  and  he  will  tell  his  friend  the  sergeant  of 
police;  and  the  sergeant  will  tell  his  captain,  and  the 
captain  will  tell  the  magistrate,  and  the  magistrate 
will  tell  his  brother-in-law  the  county  judge,  and 
the  county  judge  will  tell  the  sheriff,  and  the  sheriff 
will  tell  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  the  Lord  Mayor  will 
tell  the  President  of  the  Council,  and  the  President 
of  the  Council  will  tell  the  — ' ' 

"By  George,  but  it's  a  wonderful  scheme, 
Tommy  !  How  ever  did  you  — 

41 — Rear- Admiral,  and  the  Rear  will  tell  the  Vice, 


Two  Little  Tales  197 

and  the  Vice  will  tell  the  Admiral  of  the  Blue,  and 
the  Blue  will  tell  the  Red,  and  the  Red  will  tell  the 
White,  and  the  White  will  tell  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty,  and  the  First  Lord  will  tell  the  Speaker 
of  the  House,  and  the  Speaker — 

"  Go  it,  Tommy;  you're  'most  there!  " 
14 — will  tell  the  Master  of  the  Hounds,  and  the 
Master  will  tell  the  Head  Groom  of  the  Stables,  and 
the  Head  Groom  will  tell  the  Chief  Equerry,  and 
the  Chief  Equerry  will  tell  the  First  Lord  in  Waiting, 
and  the  First  Lord  will  tell  the  Lord  High  Chamber 
lain,  and  the  Lord  High  Chamberlain  will  tell  the 
Master  of  the  Household,  and  the  Master  of  the 
Household  will  tell  the  little  pet  page  that  fans  the 
flies  off  the  Emperor,  and  the  page  will  get  down  on 
his  knees  and  whisper  it  to  his  Majesty  —  and  the 
game's  made !  " 

11  I've  got  to  get  up  and  hurrah  a  couple  of  times, 
Tommy.  It's  the  grandest  idea  that  ever  was. 
What  ever  put  it  into  your  head  ?  ' ' 

"  Sit  down  and  listen,  and  I'll  give  you  some 
wisdom  —  and  don't  you  ever  forget  it  as  long  as 
you  live.  Now,  then,  who  is  the  closest  friend 
you've  got,  and  the  one  you  couldn't  and  wouldn't 
ever  refuse  anything  in  the  world  to  ?  " 

"Why,    it's    you,    Tommy.      You    know   that." 

14  Suppose  you  wanted  to  ask  a  pretty  large  favor 

of  the  cat's-meat  man.     Well,  you  don't  know  him, 

and  he  would  tell  you  to  go  to  thunder,  for  he  is  that 

kind  of  a  person ;  but  he  is  my  next  best  friend  after 

13 


198  Two  Little  Tales 

you,  and  would  run  his  legs  off  to  do  me  a  kindness 
—  any  kindness,  he  don't  care  what  it  is.  Now,  I'll 
ask  you:  which  is  the  most  common-sens'ible —  for 
you  to  go  and  ask  him  to  tell  the  chestnut-woman 
about  your  watermelon  cure,  or  for  you  to  get  me 
to  do  it  for  you?  " 

'To  get  you  to  do  it  for  me,  of  course.  I 
wouldn't  ever  have  thought  of  that,  Tommy;  it's 
splendid  !  " 

"  It's  a  philosophy ',  you  see.  Mighty  good  word  — 
and  large.  It  goes  on  this  idea:  everybody  in  the 
world,  little  and  big,  has  one  special  friend,  a  friend 
that  he's  glad  to  do  favors  to  —  not  sour  about  it, 
but  glad —  glad  clear  to  the  marrow.  And  so,  I 
don't  care  where  you  start,  you  can  get  at  anybody's 
ear  that  you  want  to  —  I  don't  care  how  low  you  are, 
nor  how  high  he  is.  And  it's  so  simple:  you've 
only  to  find  the  first  friend,  that  is  all;  that  ends 
your  part  of  the  work.  He  finds  the  next  friend 
himself,  and  that  one  finds  the  third,  and  so  on, 
friend  after  friend,  link  after  link,  like  a  chain;  and 
you  can  go  up  it  or  down  it,  as  high  as  you  like  or 
as  low  as  you  like." 

"  It's  just  beautiful,  Tommy." 

"  It's  as  simple  and  easy  as  a-b-c;  but  did  you 
ever  hear  of  anybody  trying  it?  No;  everybody  is 
a  fool.  He  goes  to  a  stranger  without  any  intro 
duction,  or  writes  him  a  letter,  and  of  course  he 
strikes  a  cold  wave  —  and  serves  him  gorgeously 
right.  Now,  the  Emperor  don't  know  me,  but 


JIMMY    SAVES    THE    EMPEROR 


Two  Little  Tales  199 

that's  no  matter  —  he'll  eat  his  watermelon  to-mor 
row.  You'll  see.  Hi-hi  —  stop!  It's  the  cat's- 
meat  man.  Good-by,  Jimmy;  I'll  overtake  him." 

He  did  overtake  him,  and  said: 

"  Say,  will  you  do  me  a  favor?  " 

"  Will  I?  Well,  I  should  say  !  I'm  your  man. 
Name  it,  and  see  me  fly !  " 

"  Go  tell  the  chestnut-woman  to  put  down  every 
thing  and  carry  this  message  to  her  first-best  friend, 
and  tell  the  friend  to  pass  it  along."  He  worded  the 
message,  and  said,  "  Now,  then,  rush!  " 

The  next  moment  the  chimney-sweep's  word  to 
the  Emperor  was  on  its  way. 

Ill 

The  next  evening,  toward  midnight,  the  doctors 
sat  whispering  together  in  the  imperial  sick-room, 
and  they  were  in  deep  trouble,  for  the  Emperor  was 
in  very  bad  case.  They  could  not  hide  it  from  them 
selves  that  every  time  they  emptied  a  fresh  drug 
store  into  him  he  got  worse.  It  saddened  them,  for 
they  were  expecting  that  result.  The  poor  emaci 
ated  Emperor  lay  motionless,  with  his  eyes  closed, 
and  the  page  that  was  his  darling  was  fanning  the 
flies  away  and  crying  softly.  Presently  the  boy  heard 
the  silken  rustle  of  a  portiere,  and  turned  and  saw  the 
Lord  High  Great  Master  of  the  Household  peering  in 
at  the  door  and  excitedly  motioning  to  him  to  come. 
Lightly  and  swiftly  the  page  tiptoed  his  way  to  his 
dear  and  worshiped  friend  the  Master,  who  said: 


200  Two  Little  Tales 

"Only  you  can  persuade  him,  my  child,  and  oh, 
don't  fail  to  do  it!  Take  this,  make  him  eat  it,  and 
he  is  saved." 

"  On  my  head  be  it.     He  shall  eat  it !  " 

It  was  a  couple  of  great  slices  of  ruddy,  fresh 
watermelon. 

The  next  morning  the  news  flew  everywhere  that 
the  Emperor  was  sound  and  well  again,  and  had 
hanged  the  doctors.  A  wave  of  joy  swept  the  land, 
and  frantic  preparations  were  made  to  illuminate. 

After  breakfast  his  Majesty  sat  meditating.  His 
gratitude  was  unspeakable,  and  he  was  trying  to  de 
vise  a  reward  rich  enough  to  properly  testify  it  to  his 
benefactor.  He  got  it  arranged  in  his  mind,  and 
called  the  page,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  invented 
that  cure.  The  boy  said  no  —  he  got  it  from  the 
Master  of  the  Household. 

He  was  sent  away,  and  the  Emperor  went  to  de 
vising  again.  The  Master  was  an  earl;  he  would 
make  him  a  duke,  and  give  him  a  vast  estate  which 
belonged  to  a  member  of  the  Opposition.  He  had 
him  called,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  the  inventor  of 
the  remedy.  But  the  Master  was  an  honest  man, 
and  said  he  got  it  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  He 
was  sent  away,  and  the  Emperor  thought  some 
more.  The  Chamberlain  was  a  viscount ;  he  would 
make  him  an  earl,  and  give  him  a  large  income. 
But  the  Chamberlain  referred  him  to  the  First  Lord 
in  Waiting,  and  there  was  some  more  thinking;  his 
Majesty  thought  out  a  smaller  reward.  But  the 


Two  Little  Tales  201 

First  Lord  in  Waiting  referred  him  back  further,  and 
he  had  to  sit  down  and  think  out  a  further  and 
becomingly  and  suitably  smaller  reward. 

Then,  to  break  the  tediousness  of  the  inquiry  and 
hurry  the  business,  he  sent  for  the  Grand  High 
Chief  Detective,  and  commanded  him  to  trace  the 
cure  to  the  bottom,  so  that  he  could  properly  reward 
his  benefactor. 

At  nine  in  the  evening  the  High  Chief  Detective 
brought  the  word.  He  had  traced  the  cure  down 
to  a  lad  named  Jimmy,  a  chimney-sweep.  The 
Emperor  said,  with  deep  feeling: 

"Brave  boy,  he  saved  my  life,  and  shall  not  re 
gret  it !  " 

And  sent  him  a  pair  of  his  own  boots;  and  the 
next  best  ones  he  had,  too.  They  were  too  large 
for  Jimmy,  but  they  fitted  the  Zulu,  so  it  was  all 
right,  and  everything  as  it  should  be. 

CONCLUSION  TO  THE  FIRST  STORY 
1  There  —  do  you  get  the  idea  ?  ' ' 

11  I  am  obliged  to  admit  that  I  do.  And  it  will  be 
as  you  have  said.  I  will  transact  the  business  to 
morrow.  I  intimately  know  the  Director-General's 
nearest  friend.  He  will  give  me  a  note  of  introduc 
tion,  with  a  word  to  say  my  matter  is  of  real  im 
portance  to  the  government.  I  will  take  it  along, 
without  an  appointment,  and  send  it  in,  with  my  card, 
and  I  shan't  have  to  wait  so  much  as  half  a  minute." 

That  turned  out  true  to  the  letter,  and  the  govern 
ment  adopted  the  boots. 


ABOUT  PLAY-ACTING 


I  HAVE  a  project  to  suggest.     But  first  I  will  write 
a  chapter  of  introduction. 

I  have  just  been  witnessing  a  remarkable  play,  here 
at  the  Burg  Theatre  in  Vienna.  I  do  not  know  of 
any  play  that  much  resembles  it.  In  fact,  it  is  such 
a  departure  from  the  common  laws  of  the  drama 
that  the  name  "play"  doesn't  seem  to  fit  it  quite 
snugly.  However,  whatever  else  it  may  be,  it  is  in 
any  case  a  great  and  stately  metaphysical  poem, 
and  deeply  fascinating.  "Deeply  fascinating"  is 
the  right  term,  for  the  audience  sat  four  hours  and 
five  minutes  without  thrice  breaking  into  applause, 
except  at  the  close  of  each  act ;  sat  rapt  and  silent 
—  fascinated.  This  piece  is  "The  Master  of  Pal 
myra."  It  is  twenty  years  old;  yet  I  doubt  if  you 
have  ever  heard  of  it.  It  is  by  Wilbrandt,  and  is 
his  masterpiece  and  the  work  which  is  to  make  his 
name  permanent  in  German  literature.  It  has  never 
been  played  anywhere  except  in  Berlin  and  in  the 
great  Burg  Theatre  in  Vienna.  Yet  whenever  it  is 
put  on  the  stage  it  packs  the  house,  and  the  free  list 

(302) 


About  Play- Acting  203 

is  suspended.  I  know  people  who  have  seen  it  ten 
times ;  they  know  the  most  of  it  by  heart ;  they  do 
not  tire  of  it ;  and  they  say  they  shall  still  be  quite 
willing  to  go  and  sit  under  its  spell  whenever  they 
get  the  opportunity. 

There  is  a  dash  of  metempsychosis  in  it  —  and  it 
is  the  strength  of  the  piece.  The  play  gave  me  the 
sense  of  the  passage  of  a  dimly  connected  procession 
of  dream-pictures.  The  scene  of  it  is  Palmyra  in 
Roman  times.  It  covers  a  wide  stretch  of  time  —  I 
don't  know  how  many  years  —  and  in  the  course  of 
it  the  chief  actress  is  reincarnated  several  times : 
four  times  she  is  a  more  or  less  young  woman, 
and  once  she  is  a  lad.  In  the  first  act  she  is  Zoe — 
a  Christian  girl  who  has  wandered  across  the  desert 
from  Damascus  to  try  to  Christianize  the  Zeus-wor 
shiping  pagans  of  Palmyra.  In  this  character  she 
is  wholly  spiritual,  a  religious  enthusiast,  a  devotee 
who  covets  martyrdom  —  and  gets  it. 

After  many  years  she  appears  in  the  second  act  as 
Pkcebe,  a  graceful  and  beautiful  young  light-o'-love 
from  Rome,  whose  soul  is  all  for  the  shows  and 
luxuries  and  delights  of  this  life  —  a  dainty  and 
capricious  featherhead,  a  creature  of  shower  and 
sunshine,  a  spoiled  child,  but  a  charming  one. 

In  the  third  act,  after  an  interval  of  many  years, 
she  reappears  as  Persida,  mother  of  a  daughter  in 
the  fresh  bloom  of  youth.  She  is  now  a  sort  of 
combination  of  her  two  earlier  selves:  in  religious 
loyalty  and  subjection  she  is  Zoe ;  in  triviality  of 


204  About  Play-Acting 

character  and  shallowness  of  judgment  —  together 
with  a  touch  of  vanity  in  dress  —  she  is  Phoebe, 

After  a  lapse  of  years  she  appears  in  the  fourth 
act  as  NympJias,  a  beautiful  boy,  in  whose  character 
the  previous  incarnations  are  engagingly  mixed. 

And  after  another  stretch  of  years  all  these  heredi 
ties  are  joined  in  the  Zenobia  of  the  fifth  act  —  a 
person  of  gravity,  dignity,  sweetness,  with  a  heart 
filled  with  compassion  for  all  who  suffer,  and  a  hand 
prompt  to  put  into  practical  form  the  heart's  benig 
nant  impulses. 

You  will  easily  concede  that  the  actress  who  pro 
poses  to  discriminate  nicely  these  five  characters, 
and  play  them  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  cultivated  and 
exacting  audience,  has  her  work  cut  out  for  her. 
Mme.  Hohenfels  has  made  these  parts  her  peculiar 
property ;  and  she  is  well  able  to  meet  all  the  require 
ments.  You  perceive,  now,  where  the  chief  part  of 
the  absorbing  fascination  of  this  piece  lies ;  it  is  in 
watching  this  extraordinary  artist  melt  these  five 
characters  into  each  other  —  grow,  shade  by  shade, 
out  of  one  and  into  another  through  a  stretch  of 
four  hours  and  five  minutes. 

There  are  a  number  of  curious  and  interesting 
features  in  this  piece.  For  instance,  its  hero, 
Apelles,  young,  handsome,  vigorous,  in  the  first 
act,  remains  so  all  through  the  long  flight  of  years 
covered  by  the  five  acts.  Other  men,  young  in  the 
first  act,  are  touched  with  gray  in  the  second,  are 
old  and  racked  with  infirmities  in  the  third ;  in  the 


About  Play-Acting  205 

fourth,  all  but  one  are  gone  to  their  long  home,  and 
he  is  a  blind  and  helpless  hulk  of  ninety  or  a  hundred 
years.  It  indicates  that  the  stretch  of  time  covered 
by  the  piece  is  seventy  years  or  more.  The  scenery 
undergoes  decay,  too  —  the  decay  of  age,  assisted 
and  perfected  by  a  conflagration.  The  fine  new 
temples  and  palaces  of  the  second  act  are  by  and  by 
a  wreck  of  crumbled  walls  and  prostrate  columns, 
mouldy,  grass-grown,  and  desolate;  but  their  former 
selves  are  still  recognizable  in  their  ruins.  The  aging 
men  and  the  aging  scenery  together  convey  a  pro 
found  illusion  of  that  long  lapse  of  time :  they  make 
you  live  it  yourself !  You  leave  the  theatre  with  the 
weight  of  a  century  upon  you. 

Another  strong  effect:  Death,  in  person,  walks 
about  the  stage  in  every  act.  So  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  he  was  supposedly  not  visible  to  any  ex 
cepting  two  persons  —  the  one  he  came  for  and 
Apelles.  He  used  various  costumes:  but  there 
was  always  more  black  about  them  than  any  other 
tint;  and  so  they  were  always  sombre.  Also  they 
were  always  deeply  impressive,  and  indeed  awe- 
inspiring.  The  face  was  not  subjected  to  changes, 
but  remained  the  same,  first  and  last  —  a  ghastly 
white.  To  me  he  was  always  welcome,  he  seemed 
so  real  —  the  actual  Death,  not  a  play-acting  artifi 
ciality.  He  was  of  a  solemn  and  stately  carriage; 
he  had  a  deep  voice,  and  used  it  with  a  noble 
dignity.  Wherever  there  was  a  turmoil  of  merry 
making  or  fighting  or  feasting  or  chaffing  or  quarrel- 


206  About  Play-Acting 

ing,  or  a  gilded  pageant,  or  other  manifestation  of  our 
trivial  and  fleeting  life,  into  it  drifted  that  black  figure 
with  the  corpse-face,  and  looked  its  fateful  look  and 
passed  on;  leaving  its  victim  shuddering  and  smitten. 
And  always  its  coming  made  the  fussy  human  pack 
seem  infinitely  pitiful  and  shabby  and  hardly  worth 
the  attention  of  either  saving  or  damning. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  first  act  the  young  girl  Zoe 
appears  by  some  great  rocks  in  the  desert,  and  sits 
down,  exhausted,  to  rest.  Presently  arrive  a  pauper 
couple,  stricken  with  age  and  infirmities;  and  they 
begin  to  mumble  and  pray  to  the  Spirit  of  Life,  who 
is  said  to  inhabit  that  spot.  The  Spirit  of  Life 
appears;  also  Death  —  uninvited.  They  are  (sup- 
posably)  invisible.  Death,  tall,  black-robed,  corpse- 
faced,  stands  motionless  and  waits.  The  aged 
couple  pray  to  the  Spirit  of  Life  for  a  means  to 
prop  up  their  existence  and  continue  it.  Their 
prayer  fails.  The  Spirit  of  Life  prophesies  Zoe' s 
martyrdom :  it  will  take  place  before  night.  Soon 
Apelles  arrives,  young  and  vigorous  and  full  of 
enthusiasm ;  he  has  led  a  host  against  the  Persians 
and  won  the  battle;  he  is  the  pet  of  fortune, 
rich,  honored,  beloved,  "  Master  of  Palmyra."  He 
has  heard  that  whoever  stretches  himself  out  on  one  of 
those  rocks  there,  and  asks  for  a  deathless  life,  can 
have  his  wish.  He  laughs  at  the  tradition,  but  wants 
to  make  the  trial  anyway.  The  invisible  Spirit  of  Life 
warns  him :  4 '  Life  without  end  can  be  regret  with 
out  end,"  But  he  persists:  let  him  keep  his  youth, 


About  Play-Acting  207 

his  strength,   and  his   mental    faculties    unimpaired, 
and  he  will  take  all  the  risks.      He  has  his  desire. 

From  this  time  forth,  act  after  act,  the  troubles 
and  sorrows  and  misfortunes  and  humiliations  of  life 
beat  upon  him  without  pity  or  respite ;  but  he  will 
not  give  up,  he  will  not  confess  his  mistake.  When 
ever  he  meets  Death  he  still  furiously  defies  him  — 
but  Death  patiently  waits.  He,  the  healer  of  sor 
rows,  is  man's  best  friend:  the  recognition  of  this 
will  come.  As  the  years  drag  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
the  friends  of  the  Master's  youth  grow  old  ;  and  one 
by  one  they  totter  to  the  grave :  he  goes  on  with  his 
proud  fight,  and  will  not  yield.  At  length  he  is 
wholly  alone  in  the  world ;  all  his  friends  are  dead ; 
last  of  all,  his  darling  of  darlings,  his  son,  the  lad 
Nymphas,  who  dies  in  his  arms.  His  pride  is  broken 
now;  and  he  would  welcome  Death,  if  Death  would 
come,  if  Death  would  hear  his  prayers  and  give  him 
peace.  The  closing  act  is  fine  and  pathetic. 
Apelles  meets  Zenobia,  the  helper  of  all  who 
suffer,  and  tells  her  his  story,  which  moves  her  pity. 
By  common  report  she  is  endowed  with  more  than 
earthly  powers;  and,  since  he  cannot  have  the  boon 
of  death,  he  appeals  to  her  to  drown  his  memory  in 
forgetfulness  of  his  griefs  —  forgetfulness,  "which 
is  death's  equivalent.'  She  says  (roughly  trans 
lated)  ,  in  an  exaltation  of  compassion : 

"Come  to  me! 

Kneel;   and  may  the  power  be  granted  me 
To  cool  the  fires  of  this  poor  tortured  brain, 
And  bring  it  peace  and  healing." 


208  About  Play-Acting 

He  kneels.  From  her  hand,  which  she  lays  upon 
his  head,  a  mysterious  influence  steals  through  him; 
and  he  sinks  into  a  dreamy  tranquillity. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  but  so  drift 

Through  this  soft  twilight  into  the  night  of  peace, 
Never  to  wake  again ! 
(Raising  his  hand,  as  if  in  benediction.} 
O  mother  earth,  farewell ! 
Gracious  thou  wert  to  me.     Farewell! 
Apelles  goes  to  rest." 

Death  appears  behind  him  and  encloses  the  up 
lifted  hand  in  his.  Apelles  shudders,  wearily  and 
slowly  turns,  and  recognizes  his  life-long  adversary. 
He  smiles  and  puts  all  his  gratitude  into  one  simple 
and  touching  sentence,  "Ich  danke  dir,"  and  dies. 

Nothing,  I  think,  could  be  more  moving,  more 
beautiful,  than  this  close.  This  piece  is  just  one 
long,  soulful,  sardonic  laugh  at  human  life.  Its  title 
might  properly  be  "Is  Life  a  Failure?  "  and  leave 
the  five  acts  to  play  with  the  answer.  I  am  not  at 
all  sure  that  the  author  meant  to  laugh  at  life.  I 
only  notice  that  he  has  done  it.  Without  putting 
into  words  any  ungracious  or  discourteous  things 
about  life,  the  episodes  in  the  piece  seem  to  be  say 
ing  all  the  time,  inarticulately:  "  Note  what  a  silly, 
poor  thing  human  life  is ;  how  childish  its  ambitions, 
how  ridiculous  its  pomps,  how  trivial  its  dignities, 
how  cheap  its  heroisms,  how  capricious  its  course, 
how  brief  its  flight,  how  stingy  in  happiness,  how 
opulent  in  miseries,  how  few  its  prides,  how  multi 
tudinous  its  humiliations,  how  comic  its  tragedies, 


About  Play-Acting  209 

how  tragic  its  comedies,  how  wearisome  and  monot 
onous  its  repetition  of  its  stupid  history  through  the 
ages,  with  never  the  introduction  of  a  new  detail,  how 
hard  it  has  tried,  from  the  Creation  down,  to  play 
itself  upon  its  possessor  as  a  boon,  and  has  never 
proved  its  case  in  a  single  instance !  " 

Take  note  of  some  of  the  details  of  the  piece. 
Each  of  the  five  acts  contains  an  independent  tragedy 
of  its  own.  In  each  act  somebody's  edifice  of  hope, 
or  of  ambition,  or  of  happiness,  goes  down  in  ruins. 
Even  Apelles'  perennial  youth  is  only  a  long 
tragedy,  and  his  life  a  failure.  There  are  two  mar 
tyrdoms  in  the  piece ;  and  they  are  curiously  and 
sarcastically  contrasted.  In  the  first  act  the  pagans 
persecute  Zo'e\  the  Christian  girl,  and  a  pagan  mob 
slaughters  her.  In  the  fourth  act  those  same 
pagans  —  now  very  old  and  zealous  —  are  become 
Christians,  and  they  persecute  the  pagans:  a  mob 
of  them  slaughters  the  pagan  youth,  Nymphas, 
who  is  standing  up  for  the  old  gods  of  his 
fathers.  No  remark  is  made  about  this  picturesque 
failure  of  civilization ;  but  there  it  stands,  as  an  un- 
worded  suggestion  that  civilization,  even  when 
Christianized,  was  not  able  wholly  to  subdue  the 
natural  man  in  that  old  day  —  just  as  in  our  day,  the 
spectacle  of  a  shipwrecked  French  crew  clubbing 
women  and  children  who  tried  to  climb  into  the  life 
boats  suggests  that  civilization  has  not  succeeded  in 
entirely  obliterating  the  natural  man  even  yet. 
Common  sailors !  A  year  ago,  in  Paris,  at  a  fire, 


210  About  Play-Acting 

the  aristocracy  of  the  same  nation  clubbed  girls  and 
women  out  of  the  way  to  save  themselves.  Civiliza 
tion  tested  at  top  and  bottom  both,  you  see.  And 
in  still  another  panic  of  fright  we  have  this  same 
"tough"  civilization  saving  its  honor  by  condemn 
ing  an  innocent  man  to  multiform  death,  and  hug 
ging  and  whitewashing  the  guilty  one. 

i*n  the  second  act  a  grand  Roman  official  is  not 
above  trying  to  blast  Apclles*  reputation  by  falsely 
charging  him  with  misappropriating  public  moneys. 
Apelles,  who  is  too  proud  to  endure  even  the  sus 
picion  of  irregularity,  strips  himself  to  naked  pov 
erty  to  square  the  unfair  account;  and  his  troubles 
begin:  the  blight  which  is  to  continue  and  spread 
strikes  his  life;  for  the  frivolous,  pretty  creature 
whom  he  has  brought  from  Rome  has  no  taste  for 
poverty,  and  agrees  to  elope  with  a  more  competent 
candidate.  Her  presence  in  the  house  has  previ 
ously  brought  down  the  pride  and  broken  the  heart 
of  Apelles'  poor  old  mother;  and  her  life  is  a 
failure.  Death  comes  for  her,  but  is  willing  to  trade 
her  for  the  Roman  girl;  so  the  bargain  is  struck 
with  Apelles,  and  the  mother  spared  for  the  present. 

No  one's  life  escapes  the  blight.  Timoleus,  the 
gay  satirist  of  the  first  two  acts,  who  scoffed  at  the 
pious  hypocrisies  and  money-grubbing  ways  of  the 
great  Roman  lords,  is  grown  old  and  fat  and  blear- 
eyed  and  racked  with  disease  in  the  third,  has  lost 
his  stately  purities,  and  watered  the  acid  of  his  wit. 
His  life  has  suffered  defeat.  Unthinkingly  he  swears 


About  Play- Acting  211 

by  Zeus —  from  ancient  habit  —  and  then  quakes 
with  fright;  for  a  fellow-communicant  is  passing  by. 
Reproached  by  a  pagan  friend  of  his  youth  for  his 
apostasy,  he  confesses  that  principle,  when  unsup 
ported  by  an  assenting  stomach,  has  to  climb  dowr . 
One  must  have  bread;  and  "  the  bread  is  Christian 
now."  Then  the  poor  old  wreck,  once  so  proud  of 
iron  rectitude,  hobbles  away,  coughing  and  barhing. 

In  the  same  act  Ape  lies  gives  his  sweet  young 
Christian  daughter  and  her  fine  young  pagan  lover 
his  consent  and  blessing,  and  makes  them  utterly 
happy  —  for  five  minutes.  Then  the  priest  and  the 
mob  come,  to  tear  them  apart  and  put  the  girl  in  a 
nunnery ;  for  marriage  between  the  sects  is  forbid 
den.  Apellcs'  wife  could  dissolve  the  rule;  and  she 
wants  to  do  it:  but  under  priestly  pressure  she 
wavers;  then,  fearing  that  in  providing  happiness  for 
her  child  she  would  be  committing  a  sin  dangerous 
to  herself,  she  goes  over  to  the  opposition,  throwing 
the  casting  vote  for  the  nunnery.  The  blight  has 
fallen  upon  the  young  couple;  their  life  is  a  failure. 

In  the  fourth  act,  Longinus,  who  made  such  a 
prosperous  and  enviable  start  in  the  first  act,  is  left 
alone  in  the  desert,  sick,  blind,  helpless,  incredibly 
old,  to  die:  not  a  friend  left  in  the  world  —  another 
ruined  life.  And  in  that  act,  also,  Apelles*  wor 
shiped  boy,  Nymphas,  done  to  death  by  the  mob, 
breathes  out  his  last  sigh  in  his  father's  arms  —  one 
more  failure.  In  the  fifth  act,  Apelles  himself 
dies,  and  is  glad  to  do  it;  he  who  so  ignorantly 
rejoiced,  only  four  acts  before,  over  the  splendid 


212 


About  Play-Acting 


present  of  an  earthly  immortality  —  the  very  worst 
failure  of  the  lot ! 


II 

Now  I  approach  my  project.  Here  is  the  theatre 
list  for  Saturday,  May  7,  1898  —  cut  from  the 
advertising  columns  of  a  New  York  paper : 


PBOCTOR'S 


NTINUOOS 


PASTOR'S 


CONTINUOUS 

3ES. 


av.  Good  seats.  Me. 
naiglpiajr, 

SILVER  SO0VKNIBS  at  Wed.  &  Sat.  Matinees. 


ELECTRICAL  SHOW. 

8  to  H  P.  M.    Admission,  COc.   Children,  25c. 
MADISON  SQCARB  GARDEN. 


ADRON. 


Orch.  SOc, 


rTHAVB-THSATHK.    Broadway  and  28<h  St. 


to  LOVE  J1ND8  THE  WAY 
sod  A  BIT  OF  OLD  CHELSEA. 


BATTLES  o^  NATION. 

Mate.  Wed.  &  Sat, 2.   Bv«.8.tt. 


SAM  T. 


Jennie  Y< 


WEBER  &  REIDS'  |?g£  MAT.  TO-DAY. 
POUSSE  CAFE  4S  CON-CURERS. 

HISS  BESSIE  CLAYTON,  the  Queen  of  Dancer* 


MY  FRIEND  FROM  INDIA. 

NEXT  WEEK-THE  TARRTTOWW  WIDOW. 


AMERICAN  • 


THE  BE68AR  STUDERT. 


ENTIRE  HOU8E,85,  50.  75.    Mat.  To  day,  85  &  50. 
NEXT  WKEk-FAUST  ON  ENGLLSH). 


EMPIRE  THEATRE. 


THE  MAYOR. 


Evenings  at  8:30.    Mats.  To-day  and  Wed.  et  9:tt. 


OLYMPIA 


Mat.  To-day. 

Marguerite  Sylva, 
&3u bthera 

••'WAR  BUBBLES," 


KEITH'S  CONTINUOUS  PERFORMANCE, 

IVUIIIIO.          25c..60c.,NoontoIlP.KL 


KNICKERBOOKGB.  B'WAT  &  «8T8U 

EVENINGS  AT  8:16.      MAT.  TO-DAY  AT  fcUk 

THE  BRIDE-EIECT 


KOSTER  &  BIAL^S 


U  A  R  I    F  M          OPERA  HOUSE. 
H  A  If  L  E.  HI          E^,.  8:15.    Mat.  Sat.  a. 
HENUV  MXIXEK-THE  MASTBB. 

NextWe«k-THE  HIGHWAYMAN. 


ADELK:  RITCHIE  m  «  AW  BAIN. 

Truly  Sbattuck,  Qerome  Efrvarrty.  »ad  other* 


COWTINUOUS    ^ dOT- 

ALACE,      PERFORMANCE.    JDAVB. 
I^W  3QOCKSTADEK. 

Milton  ao4  Dallle  NobJes.  Ivan  Oreboff,  Cushmao 


WALLACK.'S  E»gs.  ftM.     Mat  To^ajf.  fc 

THE  BOSTOMANS 
THE  SERENADE. 


Dalyfs 


About  Play-Acting  213 

Now  I  arrive  at  my  project,  and  make  my  sug 
gestion.  From  the  look  of  this  lightsome  feast,  I 
conclude  that  what  you  need  is  a  tonic.  Send  for 
"The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You  are  trying  to 
make  yourself  believe  that  life  is  a  comedy,  that  its 
sole  business  is  fun,  that  there  is  nothing  serious  in 
it.  You  are  ignoring  the  skeleton  in  your  closet. 
Send  for  "The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You  are 
neglecting  a  valuable  side  of  your  life ;  presently  it 
will  be  atrophied.  You  are  eating  too  much  mental 
sugar;  you  will  bring  on  Bright' s  disease  of  the  in 
tellect.  You  need  a  tonic;  you  need  it  very  much. 
Send  for  "  The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You  will  not 
need  to  translate  it:  its  story  is  as  plain  as  a  pro 
cession  of  pictures. 

I  have  made  my  suggestion.  Now  I  wish  to  put 
an  annex  to  it.  And  that  is  this :  It  is  right  and 
wholesome  to  have  those  light  comedies  and  enter 
taining  shows;  and  I  shouldn't  wish  to  see  them 
diminished.  But  none  of  us  is  always  in  the  comedy 
spirit :  we  have  our  graver  moods ;  they  come  to  us 
all;  the  lightest  of  us  cannot  escape  them.  These 
moods  have  their  appetites  —  healthy  and  legitimate 
appetites  —  and  there  ought  to  be  some  way  of  satis 
fying  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  New  York  ought 
to  have  one  theatre  devoted  to  tragedy.  With  her 
three  millions  of  population,  and  seventy  outside 
millions  to  draw  upon,  she  can  afford  it,  she  can 
support  it.  America  devotes  more  time,  labor, 
money,  and  attention  to  distributing  literary  and 
14 


214  About  Play-Acting 

musical  culture  among  the  general  public  than  does 
any  other  nation,  perhaps;  yet  here  you  find  her 
neglecting  what  is  possibly  the  most  effective  of  all 
the  breeders  and  nurses  and  disseminators  of  high 
literary  taste  and  lofty  emotion  —  the  tragic  stage. 
To  leave  that  powerful  agency  out  is  to  haul  the 
culture-wagon  with  a  crippled  team.  Nowadays, 
when  a  mood  comes  which  only  Shakspeare  can  set 
to  music,  what  must  we  do?  Read  Shakspeare  our 
selves  !  Isn't  it  pitiful?  It  is  playing  an  organ  solo 
on  a  jew's-harp.  We  can't  read.  None  but  the 
Booths  can  do  it. 

Thirty  years  ago  Edwin  Booth  played  "  Hamlet  " 
a  hundred  nights  in  New  York.  With  three  times 
the  population,  how  often  is  "  Hamlet  "  played  now 
in  a  year?  If  Booth  were  back  now  in  his  prime, 
how  often  could  he  play  it  in  New  York?  Some 
will  say  twenty-five  nights.  I  will  say  three  hun 
dred,  and  say  it  with  confidence.  The  tragedians 
are  dead ;  but  I  think  that  the  taste  and  intelligence 
which  made  their  market  are  not. 

What  has  come  over  us  English-speaking  people? 
During  the  first  half  of  this  century  tragedies  and 
great  tragedians  were  as  common  with  us  as  farce 
and  comedy;  and  it  was  the  same  in  England.  Now 
we  have  not  a  tragedian,  I  believe;  and  London, 
with  her  fifty  shows  and  theatres,  has  but  three,  I 
think.  It  is  an  astonishing  thing,  when  you  come 
to  consider  it.  Vienna  remains  upon  the  ancient 
basis:  there  has  been  no  change.  She  sticks  to  the 


About  Play- Acting  215 

former  proportions :  a  number  of  rollicking  come 
dies,  admirably  played,  every  night;  and  also  every 
night  at  the  Burg  Theatre  —  that  wonder  of  the 
world  for  grace  and  beauty  and  richness  and  splen 
dor  and  costliness  —  a  majestic  drama  of  depth  and 
seriousness,  or  a  standard  old  tragedy.  It  is  only 
within  the  last  dozen  years  that  men  have  learned  to 
do  miracles  on  the  stage  in  the  way  of  grand  and 
enchanting  scenic  effects ;  and  it  is  at  such  a  time  as 
this  that  we  have  reduced  our  scenery  mainly  to 
different  breeds  of  parlors  and  varying  aspects  of 
furniture  and  rugs.  I  think  we  must  have  a  Burg  in 
New  York,  and  Burg  scenery,  and  a  great  company 
like  the  Burg  company.  Then,  with  a  tragedy-tonic 
once  or  twice  a  month,  we  shall  enjoy  the  comedies 
all  the  better.  Comedy  keeps  the  heart  sweet;  but 
we  all  know  that  there  is  wholesome  refreshment  for 
both  mind  and  heart  in  an  occasional  climb  among 
the  pomps  of  the  intellectual  snow-summits  built  by 
Shakspeare  and  those  others.  Do  I  seem  to  be 
preaching?  It  is  out  of  my  line:  I  only  do  it  be 
cause  the  rest  of  the  clergy  seem  to  be  on  vacation. 


DIPLOMATIC  PAY  AND  CLOTHES 

VIENNA,  January  5. —  I  find  in  this  morning's 
papers  the  statement  that  the  Government  of 
the  United  States  has  paid  to  the  two  members  of 
the  Peace  Commission  entitled  to  receive  money  for 
their  services  $100,000  each  for  their  six  weeks' 
work  in  Paris. 

I  hope  that  this  is  true.  I  will  allow  myself  the 
satisfaction  of  considering  that  it  is  true,  and  of 
treating  it  as  a  thing  finished  and  settled. 

It  is  a  precedent;  and  ought  to  be  a  welcome  one 
to  our  country.  A  precedent  always  has  a  chance 
to  be  valuable  (as  well  as  the  other  way)  ;  and  its 
best  chance  to  be  valuable  (or  the  other  way)  is 
when  it  takes  such  a  striking  form  as  to  fix  a  whole 
nation's  attention  upon  it.  If  it  come  justified  out 
of  the  discussion  which  will  follow,  it  will  find  a 
career  ready  and  waiting  for  it. 

We  realize  that  the  edifice  of  public  justice  is  built 
of  precedents,  from  the  ground  upward ;  but  we  do 
not  always  realize  that  all  the  other  details  of  our 
civilization  are  likewise  built  of  precedents.  The 
changes  also  which  they  undergo  are  due  to  the  in- 

(216) 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  217 

trusion  of  new  precedents,  which  hold  their  ground 
against  opposition,  and  keep  their  place.  A  pre 
cedent  may  die  at  birth,  or  it  may  live  —  it  is  mainly 
a  matter  of  luck.  If  it  be  imitated  once,  it  has  a 
chance ;  if  twice  a  better  chance ;  if  three  times  it  is 
reaching  a  point  where  account  must  be  taken  of  it ; 
if  four,  five,  or  six  times,  it  has  probably  come  to 
stay  —  for  a  whole  century,  possibly.  If  a  town 
start  a  new  bow,  or  a  new  dance,  or  a  new  temper 
ance  project,  or  a  new  kind  of  hat,  and  can  get  the 
precedent  adopted  in  the  next  town,  the  career  of 
that  precedent  is  begun ;  and  it  will  be  unsafe  to  bet 
as  to  where  the  end  of  its  journey  is  going  to  be.  It 
may  not  get  this  start  at  all,  and  may  have  no  career; 
but  if  a  crown  prince  introduce  the  precedent,  it  will 
attract  vast  attention,  and  its  chances  for  a  career 
are  so  great  as  to  amount  almost  to  a  certainty. 

For  a  long  time  we  have  been  reaping  damage 
from  a  couple  of  disastrous  precedents.  One  is 
the  precedent  of  shabby  pay  to  public  servants 
standing  for  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  Republic 
in  foreign  lands ;  the  other  is  a  precedent  condemn 
ing  them  to  exhibit  themselves  officially  in  clothes 
which  are  not  only  without  grace  or  dignity,  but  are 
a  pretty  loud  and  pious  rebuke  to  the  vain  and 
frivolous  costumes  worn  by  the  other  officials.  To 
our  day  an  American  ambassador's  official  costume 
remains  under  the  reproach  of  these  defects.  At  a 
public  function  in  a  European  court  all  foreign  rep 
resentatives  except  ours  wear  clothes  which  in  some 


218  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

way  distinguish  them  from  the  unofficial  throng,  and 
mark  them  as  standing  for  their  countries.  But  our 
representative  appears  in  a  plain  black  swallow-tail, 
which  stands  for  neither  country  nor  people.  It 
has  no  nationality.  It  is  found  in  all  countries ;  it 
is  as  international  as  a  night-shirt.  It  has  no  par 
ticular  meaning:  but  our  Government  tries  to  give  it 
one ;  it  tries  to  make  it  stand  for  Republican  Sim 
plicity,  modesty  and  unpretentiousness.  Tries,  and 
without  doubt  fails,  for  it  is  not  conceivable  that  this 
loud  ostentation  of  simplicity  deceives  any  one. 
The  statue  that  advertises  its  modesty  with  a  fig- 
leaf  really  brings  its  modesty  under  suspicion. 
Worn  officially,  our  nonconforming  swallow-tail  is  a 
declaration  of  ungracious  independence  in  the  mat 
ter  of  manners,  and  is  uncourteous.  It  says  to  all 
around:  "In  Rome  we  do  not  choose  to  do  as 
Rome  does;  we  refuse  to  respect  your  tastes  and 
your  traditions;  we  make  no  sacrifices  to  any  one's 
customs  and  prejudices ;  we  yield  no  jot  to  the 
courtesies  of  life;  we  prefer  our  manners,  and  in 
trude  them  here." 

That  is  not  the  true  American  spirit,  and  those 
clothes  misrepresent  us.  When  a  foreigner  comes 
among  us  and  trespasses  against  our  customs  and 
our  code  of  manners,  we  are  offended,  and  justly  so : 
but  our  Government  commands  our  ambassadors  to 
wear  abroad  an  official  dress  which  is  an  offense 
against  foreign  manners  and  customs ;  and  the  dis 
credit  of  it  falls  upon  the  nation. 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  219 

We  did  not  dress  our  public  functionaries  in  un 
distinguished  raiment  before  Franklin's  time;  and 
the  change  would  not  have  come  if  he  had  been  an 
obscurity.  But  he  was  such  a  colossal  figure  in  the 
world  that  whatever  he  did  of  an  unusual  nature 
attracted  the  world's  attention,  and  became  a  pre 
cedent.  In  the  case  of  clothes,  the  next  representa 
tive  after  him,  and  the  next,  had  to  imitate  it.  After 
that,  the  thing  was  custom :  and  custom  is  a  petri 
faction  ;  nothing  but  dynamite  can  dislodge  it  for  a 
century.  We  imagine  that  our  queer  official  cos- 
turnery  was  deliberately  devised  to  symbolize  our  Re 
publican  Simplicity — a  quality  which  we  have  never 
possessed,  and  are  too  old  to  acquire  now,  if  we  had 
any  use  for  it  or  any  leaning  toward  it.  But  it  is 
not  so;  there  was  nothing  deliberate  about  it:  it 
grew  naturally  and  heedlessly  out  of  the  precedent 
set  by  Franklin. 

If  it  had  been  an  intentional  thing,  and  based 
upon  a  principle,  it  would  not  have  stopped  where 
it  did :  we  should  have  applied  it  further.  Instead 
of  clothing  our  admirals  and  generals,  for  courts- 
martial  and  other  public  functions,  in  superb  dress 
uniforms  blazing  with  color  and  gold,  the  Govern 
ment  would  put  them  in  swallow-tails  and  white 
cravats,  and  make  them  look  like  ambassadors  and 
lackeys.  If  I  am  wrong  in  making  Franklin  the 
father  of  our  curious  official  clothes,  it  is  no  matter 
—  he  will  be  able  to  stand  it. 

It  is  my  opinion  —  and  I  make  no  charge  for  the 


220  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

suggestion  —  that,  whenever  we  appoint  an  ambas 
sador  or  a  minister,  we  ought  to  confer  upon  him  the 
temporary  rank  of  admiral  or  general,  and  allow 
him  to  wear  the  corresponding  uniform  at  public 
functions  in  foreign  countries.  I  would  recommend 
this  for  the  reason  that  it  is  not  consonant  with  the 
dignity  of  the  United  States  of  America  that  her 
representative  should  appear  upon  occasions  of  state 
in  a  dress  which  makes  him  glaringly  conspicuous; 
and  that  is  what  his  present  undertaker-outfit  does 
when  it  appears,  with  its  dismal  smudge,  in  the 
midst  of  the  butterfly  splendors  of  a  Continental 
court.  It  is  a  most  trying  position  for  a  shy  man,  a 
modest  man,  a  man  accustomed  to  being  like  other 
people.  He  is  the  most  striking  figure  present; 
there  is  no  hiding  from  the  multitudinous  eyes.  It 
would  be  funny,  if  it  were  not  such  a  cruel  spectacle, 
to  see  the  hunted  creature  in  his  solemn  sables 
scuffling  around  in  that  sea  of  vivid  color,  like  a 
mislaid  Presbyterian  in  perdition.  We  are  all  aware 
that  our  representative's  dress  should  not  compel  too 
much  attention;  for  anybody  but  an  Indian  chief 
knows  that  that  is  a  vulgarity.  I  am  saying  these 
things  in  the  interest  of  our  national  pride  and 
dignity.  Our  representative  is  the  flag.  He  is  the 
Republic.  He  is  the  United  States  of  America. 
And  when  these  embodiments  pass  by,  we  do  not 
want  them  scoffed  at;  we  desire  that  people  shall 
be  obliged  to  concede  that  they  are  worthily  clothed, 
and  politely. 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  221 

Our  Government  is  oddly  inconsistent  in  this  mat 
ter  of  official  dress.  When  its  representative  is  a 
civilian  who  has  not  been  a  soldier,  it  restricts  him 
to  the  black  swallow-tail  and  white  tie ;  but  if  he  is  a 
civilian  who  has  been  a  soldier,  it  allows  him  to 
wear  the  uniform  of  his  former  rank  as  an  official 
dress.  When  General  Sickles  was  minister  to  Spain, 
he  always  wore,  when  on  official  duty,  the  dress 
uniform  of  a  major-general.  When  General  Grant 
visited  foreign  courts,  he  went  handsomely  and 
properly  ablaze  in  the  uniform  of  a  full  general,  and 
was  introduced  by  diplomatic  survivals  of  his  own 
Presidential  Administration.  The  latter,  by  official 
necessity,  went  in  the  meek  and  lowly  swallow-tail 
—  a  deliciously  sarcastic  contrast:  the  one  dress 
representing  the  honest  and  honorable  dignity  of  the 
nation ;  the  other,  the  cheap  hypocrisy  of  the  Re 
publican  Simplicity  tradition.  In  Paris  our  present 
representative  can  perform  his  official  functions  rep 
utably  clothed ;  for  he  was  an  officer  in  the  Civil 
War.  In  London  our  late  ambassador  was  similarly 
situated;  for  he  also  was  an  officer  in  the  Civil 
War.  But  Mr.  Choate  must  represent  the  Great 
Republic  —  even  at  official  breakfast  at  seven  in  the 
morning  —  in  that  same  old  funny  swallow-tail. 

Our  Government's  notions  about  proprieties  of 
costume  are  indeed  very,  very  odd  —  as  suggested 
by  that  last  fact.  The  swallow-tail  is  recognized  the 
world  over  as  not  wearable  in  the  daytime ;  it  is  a 
night-dress,  and  a  night-dress  only  —  a  night-shirt  is 


222  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

not  more  so.  Yet,  when  our  representative  makes 
an  official  visit  in  the  morning,  he  is  obliged  by  his 
Government  to  go  in  that  night-dress.  It  makes  the 
very  cab-horses  laugh. 

The  truth  is,  that  for  a  while  during  the  present 
century,  and  up  to  something  short  of  forty  years 
ago,  we  had  a  lucid  interval,  and  dropped  the 
Republican  Simplicity  sham,  and  dressed  our  foreign 
representatives  in  a  handsome  and  becoming  official 
costume.  This  was  discarded  by  and  by,  and  the 
swallow-tail  substituted.  I  believe  it  is  not  now 
known  which  statesman  brought  about  this  change ; 
but  we  all  know  that,  stupid  as  he  was  as  to  diplo 
matic  proprieties  in  dress,  he  would  not  have  sent  his 
daughter  to  a  state  ball  in  a  corn-shucking  costume, 
nor  to  a  corn-shucking  in  a  state  ball  costume,  to  be 
harshly  criticised  as  an  ill-mannered  offender  against 
the  proprieties  of  custom  in  both  places.  And  we 
know  another  thing,  viz. :  that  he  himself  would  not 
have  wounded  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  a  family  of 
mourners  by  attending  a  funeral  in  their  house  in  a 
costume  which  was  an  offense  against  the  dignities 
and  decorum  prescribed  by  tradition  and  sanctified 
by  custom.  Yet  that  man  was  so  heedless  as  not  to 
reflect  that  all  the  social  customs  of  civilized  peoples 
are  entitled  to  respectful  observance,  and  that  no 
man  with  a  right  spirit  of  courtesy  in  him  ever  has 
any  disposition  to  transgress  these  customs. 

There  is  still  another  argument  for  a  rational 
diplomatic  dress  —  a  business  argument.  We  are  a 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  223 

trading  nation ;  and  our  representative  is  our  busi 
ness  agent.  If  he  is  respected,  esteemed,  and  liked 
where  he  is  stationed,  he  can  exercise  an  influence 
which  can  extend  our  trade  and  forward  our  pros 
perity.  A  considerable  number  of  his  business 
activities  have  their  field  in  his  social  relations;  and 
clothes  which  do  not  offend  against  local  manners 
and  customs  and  prejudices  are  a  valuable  part  of  his 
equipment  in  this  matter  —  would  be,  if  Franklin  had 
died  earlier. 

I  have  not  done  with  gratis  suggestions  yet.  We 
made  a  great  and  valuable  advance  when  we  insti 
tuted  the  office  of  ambassador.  That  lofty  rank 
endows  its  possessor  with  several  times  as  much  in 
fluence,  consideration,  and  effectiveness  as  the  rank 
of  minister  bestows.  For  the  sake  of  the  country's 
dignity  and  for  the  sake  of  her  advantage  commer 
cially,  we  should  have  ambassadors,  not  ministers,  at 
the  great  courts  of  the  world. 

But  not  at  present  salaries !  No ;  if  we  are  to 
maintain  present  salaries,  let  us  make  no  more  am 
bassadors  ;  and  let  us  unmake  those  we  have  already 
made.  The  great  position,  without  the  means  of  re 
spectably  maintaining  it  —  there  could  be  no  wisdom 
in  that.  A  foreign  representative,  to  be  valuable  to 
his  country,  must  be  on  good  terms  with  the  officials 
of  the  capital  and  with  the  rest  of  the  influential  folk. 
He  must  mingle  with  this  society ;  he  cannot  sit  at 
home  —  it  is  not  business,  it  butters  no  commercial 
parsnips.  He  must  attend  the  dinners,  banquets, 


224 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 


suppers,  balls,  receptions,  and  must  return  these 
hospitalities.  He  should  return  as  good  as  he  gets, 
too,  for  the  sake  of  the  dignity  of  his  country,  and 
for  the  sake  of  Business.  Have  we  ever  had  a  min 
ister  or  an  ambassador  who  could  do  this  on  his 
salary?  No  —  not  once,  from  Franklin's  time  to 
ours.  Other  countries  understand  the  commercial 
value  of  properly  lining  the  pockets  of  their  repre 
sentatives;  but  apparently  our  Government  has  not 
learned  it.  England  is  the  most  successful  trader  of 
the  several  trading  nations ;  and  she  takes  good  care 
of  the  watchmen  who  keep  guard  in  her  commercial 
towers.  It  has  been  a  long  time,  now,  since  we 
needed  to  blush  for  our  representatives  abroad.  It 
has  become  custom  to  send  our  fittest.  We  send 
men  of  distinction,  cultivation,  character  —  our 
ablest,  our  choicest,  our  best.  Then  we  cripple 
their  efficiency  through  the  meagreness  of  their  pay. 
Here  is  a  list  of  salaries  for  English  and  American 
ministers  and  ambassadors: 


CITT. 

SALARIES. 

AMERICAN. 

ENGLISH. 

Paris            

$17,500 

17,5°° 
12,000 
10,000 

17,50° 

12,000 

$45,000 
40,000 
40,000 
40,000 
39,000 
SS.ooo 
32,5°° 

Berlin          

Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  225 

Sir  Julian  Pauncefote,  the  English  ambassador  at 
Washington,  has  a  very  fine  house  besides  —  at  no 
damage  to  his  salary. 

English  ambassadors  pay  no  house-rent;  they  live 
in  palaces  owned  by  England.  Our  representatives 
pay  house-rent  out  of  their  salaries.  You  can  judge 
by  the  above  figures  what  kind  of  houses  the  United 
States  of  America  has  been  used  to  living  in  abroad, 
and  what  sort  of  return-entertaining  she  has  done. 
There  is  not  a  salary  in  our  list  which  would  properly 
house  the  representative  receiving  it,  and,  in  addi 
tion,  pay  $3,000  toward  his  family's  bacon  and 
doughnuts  —  the  strange  but  economical  and  custom 
ary  fare  of  the  American  ambassador's  household, 
except  on  Sundays,  when  petrified  Boston  crackers 
are  added. 

The  ambassadors  and  ministers  of  foreign  nations 
not  only  have  generous  salaries,  but  their  Govern 
ments  provide  them  with  money  wherewith  to  pay  a 
considerable  part  of  their  hospitality  bills.  I  believe 
our  Government  pays  no  hospitality  bills  except  those 
incurred  by  the  navy.  Through  this  concession  to 
the  navy,  that  arm  is  able  to  do  us  credit  in  foreign 
parts;  and  certainly  that  is  well  and  politic.  But 
why  the  Government  does  not  think  it  well  and  poli 
tic  that  our  diplomats  should  be  able  to  do  us  like 
credit  abroad  is  one  of  those  mysterious  inconsist 
encies  which  have  been  puzzling  me  ever  since  I 
stopped  trying  to  understand  baseball  and  took  up 

statesmanship  as  a  pastime. 
is 


226  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

To  return  to  the  matter  of  house-rent.  Good 
houses,  properly  furnished,  in  European  capitals,  are 
not  to  be  had  at  small  figures.  Consequently,  our 
foreign  representatives  have  been  accustomed  to  live 
in  garrets  —  sometimes  on  the  roof.  Being  poor 
men,  it  has  been  the  best  they  could  do  on  the  salary 
which  the  Government  has  paid  them.  How  could 
they  adequately  return  the  hospitalities  shown  them? 
It  was  impossible.  It  would  have  exhausted  the 
salary  in  three  months.  Still,  it  was  their  official 
duty  to  entertain  the  influential  after  some  sort  of 
fashion ;  and  they  did  the  best  they  could  with  their 
limited  purse.  In  return  for  champagne  they  fur 
nished  lemonade ;  in  return  for  game  they  furnished 
ham ;  in  return  for  whale  they  furnished  sardines ;  in 
return  for  liquors  they  furnished  condensed  milk; 
in  return  for  the  battalion  of  liveried  and  powdered 
flunkeys  they  furnished  the  hired  girl ;  in  return  for 
the  fairy  wilderness  of  sumptuous  decorations  they 
draped  the  stove  with  the  American  flag;  in  return 
for  the  orchestra  they  furnished  zither  and  ballads 
by  the  family;  in  return  for  the  ball  —  but  they 
didn't  return  the  ball,  except  in  cases  where  the 
United  States  lived  on  the  roof  and  had  room. 

Is  this  an  exaggeration?  It  can  hardly  be  called 
that.  I  saw  nearly  the  equivalent  of  it  once,  a  good 
many  years  ago.  A  minister  was  trying  to  create 
influential  friends  for  a  project  which  might  be  worth 
ten  millions  a  year  to  the  agriculturists  of  the  Re 
public  ;  and  our  Government  had  furnished  him  ham 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  227 

and  lemonade  to  persuade  the  opposition  with. 
The  minister  did  not  succeed.  He  might  not  have 
succeeded  if  his  salary  had  been  what  it  ought  to 
have  been  —  $50,000  or  $60,000  a  year  —  but  his 
chances  would  have  been  very  greatly  improved. 
And  in  any  case,  he  and  his  dinners  and  his  country 
would  not  have  been  joked  about  by  the  hard-hearted 
and  pitied  by  the  compassionate. 

Any  experienced  "drummer"  will  testify  that, 
when  you  want  to  do  business,  there  is  no  economy 
in  ham  and  lemonade.  The  drummer  takes  his 
country  customer  to  the  theatre,  the  opera,  the 
circus;  dines  him,  wines  him,  entertains  him  all  the 
day  and  all  the  night  in  luxurious  style ;  and  plays 
upon  his  human  nature  in  all  seductive  ways.  For  he 
knows,  by  old  experience,  that  this  is  the  best  way 
to  get  a  profitable  order  out  of  him.  He  has  his 
reward.  All  Governments  except  our  own  play  the 
same  policy,  with  the  same  end  in  view;  and  they 
also  have  their  reward.  But  ours  refuses  to  do 
business  by  business  ways,  and  sticks  to  ham  and 
lemonade.  This  is  the  most  expensive  diet  known 
to  the  diplomatic  service  of  the  world. 

Ours  is  the  only  country  of  first  importance  that 
pays  its  foreign  representatives  trifling  salaries.  If 
we  were  poor,  we  could  not  find  great  fault  with 
these  economies,  perhaps  —  at  least  one  could  find  a 
sort  of  plausible  excuse  for  them.  But  we  are  not 
poor;  and  the  excuse  fails.  As  shown  above,  some 
of  our  important  diplomatic  representatives  receive 


228  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

$12,000;  others  $17,500.  These  salaries  are  all  ham 
and  lemonade,  and  unworthy  of  the  flag.  When  we 
have  a  rich  ambassador  in  London  or  Paris,  he  lives 
as  the  ambassador  of  a  country  like  ours  ought  to 
live,  and  it  costs  him  $100,000  a  year  to  do  it.  But 
why  should  we  allow  him  to  pay  that  out  of  his 
private  pocket?  There  is  nothing  fair  about  it;  and 
the  Republic  is  no  proper  subject  for  any  one's 
charity.  In  several  cases  our  salaries  of  $12,000 
should  be  $50,000;  and  all  of  the  salaries  of  $17,- 
500  ought  to  be  $75,000  or  $100,000,  since  we  pay 
no  representative's  house-rent.  Our  State  Depart 
ment  realizes  the  mistake  which  we  are  making,  and 
would  like  to  rectify  it,  but  it  has  not  the  power. 

When  a  young  girl  reaches  eighteen  she  is  recog 
nized  as  being  a  woman.  She  adds  six  inches  to  her 
skirt,  she  unplaits  her  dangling  braids  and  balls  her 
hair  on  top  of  her  head,  she  stops  sleeping  with  her 
little  sister  and  has  a  room  to  herself,  and  becomes 
in  many  ways  a  thundering  expense.  But  she  is  in 
society  now;  and  papa  has  to  stand  it.  There  is  no 
avoiding  it.  Very  well.  The  Great  Republic  length 
ened  her  skirts  last  year,  balled  up  her  hair,  and 
entered  the  world's  society.  This  means  that,  if 
she  would  prosper  and  stand  fair  with  society,  she 
must  put  aside  some  of  her  dearest  and  darlingest 
young  ways  and  superstitions,  and  do  as  society 
does.  Of  course,  she  can  decline  if  she  wants  to ; 
but  this  would  be  unwise.  She  ought  to  realize, 
now  that  she  has  "come  out,"  that  this  is  a  right 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  229 

and  proper  time  to  change  a  part  of  her  style.  She 
is  in  Rome ;  and  it  has  long  been  granted  that  when 
one  is  in  Rome  it  is  good  policy  to  do  as  Rome 
does.  To  advantage  Rome?  No  —  to  advantage 
herself. 

If  our  Government  has  really  paid  representatives 
of  ours  on  the  Paris  Commission  $100,000  apiece 
for  six  weeks'  work,  I  feel  sure  that  it  is  the  best 
cash  investment  the  nation  has  made  in  many  years. 
For  it  seems  quite  impossible  that,  with  that  pre 
cedent  on  the  books,  the  Government  will  be  able  to 
find  excuses  for  continuing  its  diplomatic  salaries  at 
the  present  mean  figure. 

P.  S. —  VIENNA,  January  10. —  I  see,  by  this 
morning's  telegraphic  news,  that  I  am  not  to  be  the 
new  ambassador  here,  after  all.  This  —  well,  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say.  I  —  well,  of  course,  I  do 
not  care  anything  about  it ;  but  it  is  at  least  a  sur 
prise.  I  have  for  many  months  been  using  my  in 
fluence  at  Washington  to  get  this  diplomatic  see 
expanded  into  an  ambassadorship,  with  the  idea,  of 
course,  th —  But  never  mind.  Let  it  go.  It  is  of 
no  consequence.  I  say  it  calmly;  for  I  am  calm. 
But  at  the  same  time —  However,  the  subject  has 
no  interest  for  me,  and  never  had.  I  never  really 
intended  to  take  the  place,  anyway  —  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  it  months  and  months  ago,  nearly  a  year. 
But  now,  while  I  am  calm,  I  would  like  to  say  this  — 
that  so  long  as  I  shall  continue  to  possess  an  Ameri 
can's  proper  pride  in  the  honor  and  dignity  of  his 
15 


230  Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes 

country,  I  will  not  take  any  ambassadorship  in  the 
gift  of  the  flag  at  a  salary  short  of  $75,000  a  year. 
If  I  shall  be  charged  with  wanting  to  live  beyond  my 
country's  means,  I  cannot  help  it.  A  country  which 
cannot  afford  ambassador's  wages  should  be  ashamed 
to  have  ambassadors. 

Think  of  a  Seventeen-thousand-five-hundred-dollar 
ambassador!  Particularly  for  America.  Why,  it  is 
the  most  ludicrous  spectacle,  the  most  inconsistent  and 
incongruous  spectacle,  contrivable  by  even  the  most 
diseased  imagination.  It  is  a  billionaire  in  a  paper 
collar,  a  king  in  a  breechclout,  an  archangel  in  a  tin 
halo.  And,  for  pure  sham  and  hypocrisy,  the  salary 
is  just  the  match  of  the  ambassador's  official  clothes 
—  that  boastful  advertisement  of  a  Republican  Sim 
plicity  which  manifests  itself  at  home  in  Fifty-thou 
sand-dollar  salaries  to  insurance  presidents  and  rail 
way  lawyers,  and  in  domestic  palaces  whose  fittings 
and  furnishings  often  transcend  in  costly  display  and 
splendor  and  richness  the  fittings  and  furnishings  of 
the  palaces  of  the  sceptred  masters  of  Europe ;  and 
which  has  invented  and  exported  to  the  Old  World 
the  palace-car,  the  sleeping-car,  the  tram-car,  the 
electric  trolley,  the  best  bicycles,  the  best  motor 
cars,  the  steam-heater,  the  best  and  smartest  systems 
of  electric  calls  and  telephonic  aids  to  laziness  and 
comfort,  the  elevator,  the  private  bath-room  (hot 
and  cold  water  on  tap),  the  palace-hotel,  with  its 
multifarious  conveniences,  comforts,  shows,  and 
luxuries,  the  —  oh,  the  list  is  interminable!  In  a 


Diplomatic  Pay  and  Clothes  231 

word,  Republican  Simplicity  found  Europe  with  one 
shirt  on  her  back,  so  to  speak,  as  far  as  real  luxuries, 
conveniences,  and  the  comforts  of  life  go,  and  has 
clothed  her  to  the  chin  with  the  latter.  We  are  the 
lavishest  and  showiest  and  most  luxury-loving  peo 
ple  on  the  earth ;  and  at  our  masthead  we  fly  one 
true  and  honest  symbol,  the  gaudiest  flag  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  Oh,  Republican  Simplicity,  there 
are  many,  many  humbugs  in  the  world,  but  none  to 
which  you  need  take  off  your  hat  I 


IS  HE  LIVING  OR  IS  HE  DEAD 

I  WAS  spending  the  month  of  March,  1892,  at 
Mentone,  in  the  Riviera.  At  this  retired  spot 
one  has  all  the  advantages,  privately,  which  are  to 
be  had  at  Monte  Carlo  and  Nice,  a  few  miles  farther 
along,  publicly.  That  is  to  say,  one  has  the  flood 
ing  sunshine,  the  balmy  air,  and  the  brilliant  blue 
sea,  without  the  marring  additions  of  human  pow 
wow  and  fuss  and  feathers  and  display.  Mentone  is 
quiet,  simple,  restful,  unpretentious;  the  rich  and 
the  gaudy  do  not  come  there.  As  a  rule,  I  mean, 
the  rich  do  not  come  there.  Now  and  then  a  rich 
man  comes,  and  I  presently  got  acquainted  with  one 
of  these.  Partially  to  disguise  him  I  will  call  him 
Smith.  One  day,  in  the  Hotel  des  Anglais,  at  the 
second  breakfast,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Quick!  Cast  your  eye  on  the  man  going  out 
at  the  door.  Take  in  every  detail  of  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  is?  " 

"  Yes.  He  spent  several  days  here  before  you 
came.  He  is  an  old,  retired,  and  very  rich  silk 
manufacturer  from  Lyons,  they  say,  and  I  guess  he 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  233 

is  alone  in  the  world,  for  he  always  looks  sad  and 
dreamy,  and  doesn't  talk  with  anybody.  His  name 
is  Theophile  Magnan . ' ' 

I  supposed  that  Smith  would  now  proceed  to 
justify  the  large  interest  which  he  had  shown  in 
Monsieur  Magnan ;  but  instead  he  dropped  into  a 
brown  study,  and  was  apparently  lost  to  me  and  to 
the  rest  of  the  world  during  some  minutes.  Now 
and  then  he  passed  his  fingers  through  his  flossy 
white  hair,  to  assist  his  thinking,  and  meantime  he 
allowed  his  breakfast  to  go  on  cooling.  At  last  he 
said: 

44  No,  it's  gone;   I  can't  call  it  back." 

4 'Can't  call  what  back?" 

44  It's  one  of  Hans  Andersen's  beautiful  little 
stories.  But  it's  gone  from  me.  Part  of  it  is  like 
this:  A  child  has  a  caged  bird,  which  it  loves,  but 
thoughtlessly  neglects.  The  bird  pours  out  its  song 
unheard  and  unheeded ;  but  in  time,  hunger  and 
thirst  assail  the  creature,  and  its  song  grows  plain 
tive  and  feeble  and  finally  ceases  —  the  bird  dies. 
The  child  comes,  and  is  smitten  to  the  heart  with 
remorse;  then,  with  bitter  tears  and  lamentations, 
it  calls  its  mates,  and  they  bury  the  bird  with 
elaborate  pomp  and  the  tenderest  grief,  without 
knowing,  poor  things,  that  it  isn't  children  only  who 
starve  poets  to  death  and  then  spend  enough  on 
their  funerals  and  monuments  to  have  kept  them 
alive  and  made  them  easy  and  comfortable.  Now  — ' ' 

But   here  we  were  interrupted.     About  ten  that 


234  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

evening  I  ran  across  Smith,  and  he  asked  me  up  to 
his  parlor  to  help  him  smoke  and  drink  hot  Scotch. 
It  was  a  cosy  place,  with  its  comfortable  chairs,  its 
cheerful  lamps,  and  its  friendly  open  fire  of  seasoned 
olive-wood.  To  make  everything  perfect,  there  was 
the  muffled  booming  of  the  surf  outside.  After  the 
second  Scotch  and  much  lazy  and  contented  chat, 
Smith  said : 

"Now  we  are  properly  primed  —  I  to  tell  a 
curious  history,  and  you  to  listen  to  it.  It  has  been 
a  secret  for  many  years  —  a  secret  between  me  and 
three  others ;  but  I  am  going  to  break  the  seal  now. 
Are  you  comfortable?  " 

"  Perfectly.      Go  on." 

Here  follows  what  he  told  me : 

4  *  A  long  time  ago  I  was  a  young  artist  —  a  very 
young  artist,  in  fact  —  and  I  wandered  about  the 
country  parts  of  France,  sketching  here  and  sketch 
ing  there,  and  was  presently  joined  by  a  couple  of 
darling  young  Frenchmen  who  were  at  the  same  kind 
of  thing  that  I  was  doing.  We  were  as  happy  as  we 
were  poor,  or  as  poor  as  we  were  happy  —  phrase  it 
to  suit  yourself.  Claude  Frere  and  Carl  Boulanger 
—  these  are  the  names  of  those  boys;  dear,  dear 
fellows,  and  the  sunniest  spirits  that  ever  laughed  at 
poverty  and  had  a  noble  good  time  in  all  weathers. 

"  At  last  we  ran  hard  aground  in  a  Breton  village, 
and  an  artist  as  poor  as  ourselves  took  us  in  and 
literally  saved  us  from  starving  —  Frangois  Millet — " 

"  What !  the  great  Frangois  Millet?  " 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  235 

"  Great?  He  wasn't  any  greater  than  we  were, 
then.  He  hadn't  any  fame,  even  in  his  own  village; 
and  he  was  so  poor  that  he  hadn't  anything  to  feed 
us  on  but  turnips,  and  even  the  turnips  failed  us 
sometimes.  We  four  became  fast  friends,  doting 
friends,  inseparables.  We  painted  away  together 
with  all  our  might,  piling  up  stock,  piling  up  stock, 
but  very  seldom  getting  rid  of  any  of  it.  We  had 
lovely  times  together;  but,  O  my  soul!  how  we 
were  pinched  now  and  then ! 

'*  For  a  little  over  two  years  this  went  on.  At 
last,  one  day,  Claude  said : 

'*  *  Boys,  we've  come  to  the  end.  Do  you  under 
stand  that?  —  absolutely  to  the  end.  Everybody 
has  struck  —  there's  a  league  formed  against  us. 
I've  been  all  around  the  village  and  it's  just  as  I 
tell  you.  They  refuse  to  credit  us  for  another 
centime  until  all  the  odds  and  ends  are  paid  up.' 

44  This  struck  us  cold.  Every  face  was  blank 
with  dismay.  We  realized  that  our  circumstances 
were  desperate,  now.  There  was  a  long  silence. 
Finally,  Millet  said  with  a  sigh : 

"'Nothing  occurs  to  me  —  nothing.  Suggest 
something,  lads.' 

"There  was  no  response,  unless  a  mournful 
silence  may  be  called  a  response.  Carl  got  up,  and 
walked  nervously  up  and  down  awhile,  then  said : 

44  '  It's  a  shame!  Look  at  these  canvases:  stacks 
and  stacks  of  as  good  pictures  as  anybody  in 
Europe  paints — I  don't  care  who  he  is.  Yes,  and 


236  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

plenty  of   lounging  strangers  have  said  the  same  — 
or  nearly  that,  anyway.' 

"  '  But  didn't  buy,'  Millet  said. 

"'No  matter,  they  said  it;  and  it's  true,  too. 
Look  at  your  "  Angelus  "  there!  Will  anybody 
tell  me  — ' 

"'Pah,  Carl  — my  "Angelus"!  I  was  offered 
five  francs  for  it.' 

"'When?' 

"  'Who  offered  it?' 

"'Where  is  he?' 

"  '  Why  didn't  you  take  it?  ' 

'Come  —  don't  all  speak  at  once.  I  though! 
he  would  give  more  —  I  was  sure  of  it  —  he  looked 
it  —  so  I  asked  him  eight.' 

"  'Well  — and  then?' 

"  '  He  said  he  would  call  again.' 

"  'Thunder  and  lightning!     Why,  Francois — ' 

'  Oh,  I  know  —  I  know!  It  was  a  mistake,  and 
I  was  a  fool.  Boys,  I  meant  for  the  best;  you'll 
grant  me  that,  and  I— 

'  Why,  certainly,  we  know  that,  bless  your  dear 
heart;  but  don't  you  be  a  fool  again.' 

"  4I?  I  wish  somebody  would  come  along  and 
offer  us  a  cabbage  for  it  —  you'd  see  !  ' 

"'A  cabbage!  Oh,  don't  name  it  —  it  makes 
my  mouth  water.  Talk  of  things  less  trying.' 

'Boys,'  said  Carl,  'do  these  pictures  lack 
merit?  Answer  me  that.' 

••'No!' 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  237 

*  Aren't  they    of   very  great    and   high    merit? 
Answer  me  that.' 
"'Yes.' 

'  Of  such  great  and  high  merit  that,  if  an  illus 
trious  name  were  attached  to  them,  they  would  sell 
at  splendid  prices.  Isn't  it  so?  ' 

'  Certainly  it  is.     Nobody  doubts  that.' 

'  But  —  I'm  not  joking  —  isn't  it  so?  ' 

'Why,  of  course  it's  so  —  and  we  are  not  jok 
ing.  But  what  of  it?  What  of  it?  How  does  that 
concern  us?  ' 

'In  this  way,  comrades  —  we'll  attack  an  illus 
trious  name  to  them  !  ' 

"The    lively    conversation    stopped.      The    faces 
were  turned  inquiringly  upon   Carl.     What   sort  oi 
riddle  might  this  be?    Where  was  an  illustrious  name 
to  be  borrowed?     And  who  was  to  borrow  it? 
"  Carl  sat  down,  and  said: 

'  Now,  I  have  a  perfectly  serious  thing  to  pro 
pose.  I  think  it  is  the  only  way  to  keep  us  out  of 
the  almshouse,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  a  perfectly 
sure  way.  I  base  this  opinion  upon  certain  multi 
tudinous  and  long-established  facts  in  human  history. 
I  believe  my  project  will  make  us  all  rich.' 

'  Rich  !     You've  lost  your  mind.' 
"  4  No,  I  haven't.' 

'Yes,  you  have  —  you've  lost  your  mind. 
What  do  you  call  rich  ?  ' 

"  '  A  hundred  thousand  francs  apiece.' 
"  '  He  has  lost  his  mind.      I  knew  it.' 


238  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

"'Yes,  he  has.  Carl,  privation  has  been  too 
much  for  you,  and  —  ' 

"  4  Carl,  you  want  to  take  a  pill  and  get  right  to 
bed/: 

"'Bandage  him  first  —  bandage  his  head,  and 
then  —  ' 

"  'No,  bandage  his  heels;  his  brains  have  been 
settling  for  weeks  —  I've  noticed  it.' 

"  '  Shut  up  !  '  said  Millet,  with  ostensible  severity, 
4  and  let  the  boy  say  his  say.  Now,  then  —  come 
out  with  your  project,  Carl.  What  is  it?  ' 

"  '  Well,  then,  by  way  of  preamble  I  will  ask  you 
to  note  this  fact  in  human  history:  that  the  merit 
of  many  a  great  artist  has  never  been  acknowledged 
until  after  he  was  starved  and  dead.  This  has  hap* 
pened  so  often  that  I  make  bold  to  found  a  law  upon 
it.  This  law :  that  the  merit  of  every  great  unknown 
and  neglected  artist  must  and  will  be  recognized, 
and  his  pictures  climb  to  high  prices  after  his  death. 
My  project  is  this:  we  must  cast  lots  —  one  of  us 
must  die.' 

' '  The  remark  fell  so  calmly  and  so  unexpectedly 
that  we  almost  forgot  to  jump.  Then  there  was  a 
wild  chorus  of  advice  again  —  medical  advice  —  for 
the  help  of  Carl's  brain;  but  he  waited  patiently  for 
the  hilarity  to  calm  down,  then  went  on  again  with 
his  project: 

'  Yes,  one  of  us  must  die,  to  save  the  others  — 
and  himself.  We  will  cast  lots.  The  one  chosen 
shall  be  illustrious,  all  of  us  shall  be  rich.  Hold 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  239 

still,  now  —  hold  still;  don't  interrupt  —  I  tell  you 
I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Here  is  the  idea. 
During  the  next  three  months  the  one  who  is  to  die 
shall  paint  with  all  his  might,  enlarge  his  stock  all 
he  can  —  not  pictures,  no!  skeleton  sketches, 
studies,  parts  of  studies,  fragments  of  studies,  a 
dozen  dabs  of  the  brush  on  each  —  meaningless,  of 
course,  but  his  with  his  cipher  on  them ;  turn  out 
fifty  a  day,  each  to  contain  some  peculiarity  or  man 
nerism  easily  detectable  as  his  —  they're  the  things 
that  sell,  you  know,  and  are  collected  at  fabulous 
prices  for  the  world's  museums,  after  the  great  man 
is  gone;  we'll  have  a  ton  of  them  ready  —  a  ton ! 
And  all  that  time  the  rest  of  us  will  be  busy  support 
ing  the  moribund,  and  working  Paris  and  the  dealers 
—  preparations  for  the  coming  event,  you  know ;  and 
when  everything  is  hot  and  just  right,  we'll  spring 
the  death  on  them  and  have  the  notorious  funeral. 
You  get  the  idea?  ' 

'*  '  N-o ;   at  least,  not  qu —  ' 

4  Not  quite?  Don't  you  see?  The  man  doesn't 
really  die ;  he  changes  his  name  and  vanishes ;  we 
bury  a  dummy,  and  cry  over  it,  with  ail  the  world  to 
help.  And  I—  ' 

"But  he  wasn't  allowed  to  finish.  Everybody 
broke  out  into  a  rousing  hurrah  of  applause ;  and  all 
jumped  up  and  capered  about  the  room  and  fell  on 
each  other's  necks  in  transports  of  gratitude  and 
joy.  For  hours  we  talked  over  the  great  plan,  with 
out  ever  feeling  hungry;  and  at  last,  when  all  the 


240  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

details  had  been  arranged  satisfactorily,  we  cast  lots 
and  Millet  was  elected  —  elected  to  die,  as  we  called 
it.  Then  we  scraped  together  those  things  which 
one  never  parts  with  until  he  is  betting  them  against 
future  wealth  —  keepsake  trinkets  and  such  like  — 
and  these  we  pawned  for  enough  to  furnish  us  a 
frugal  farewell  supper  and  breakfast,  and  leave  us  a 
few  francs  over  for  travel,  and  a  stake  of  turnips  and 
such  for  Millet  to  live  on  for  a  few  days. 

1 '  Next  morning,  early,  the  three  of  us  cleared 
out,  straightway  after  breakfast  —  on  foot,  of  course. 
Each  of  us  carried  a  dozen  of  Millet's  small  pictures, 
purposing  to  market  them.  Carl  struck  for  Paris, 
where  he  would  start  the  work  of  building  up  Mil 
let's  fame  against  the  coming  great  day.  Claude 
and  I  were  to  separate,  and  scatter  abroad  over 
France. 

1 '  Now,  it  will  surprise  you  to  know  what  an  easy 
and  comfortable  thing  we  had.  I  walked  two  days 
before  I  began  business.  Then  I  began  to  sketch  a 
villa  in  the  outskirts  of  a  big  town  —  because  I  saw 
the  proprietor  standing  on  an  upper  veranda.  He 
came  down  to  look  on  —  I  thought  he  would.  I 
worked  swiftly,  intending  to  keep  him  interested. 
Occasionally  he  fired  off  a  little  ejaculation  of  appro 
bation,  and  by  and  by  he  spoke  up  with  enthusiasm, 
and  said  I  was  a  master ! 

"  I  put  down  my  brush,  reached  into  my  satchel, 
fetched  out  a  Millet,  and  pointed  to  the  cipher  in 
the  corner.  I  said,  proudly: 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  241 

4 1  suppose  you  recognize  tJiat  ?  Well,  he 
taught  me !  I  should  think  I  ought  to  know  my 
trade !  ' 

*  The  man  looked  guiltily  embarrassed,  and  was 
silent.  I  said,  sorrowfully: 

4  You  don't  mean  to  intimate  that  you  don't 
know  the  cipher  of  Francois  Millet !  ' 

"Of  course  he  didn't  know  that  cipher;  but  he 
was  the  gratefulest  man  you  ever  saw,  just  the  same, 
for  being  let  out  of  an  uncomfortable  place  on  such 
easy  terms.  He  said: 

"'No!  Why,  it  is  Millet's,  sure  enough !  I 
don't  know  what  I  could  have  been  thinking  of. 
Of  course  I  recognize  it  now.' 

1 '  Next,  he  wanted  to  buy  it ;  but  I  said  that 
although  I  wasn't  rich  I  wasn't  that  poor.  How 
ever,  at  last,  I  let  him  have  it  for  eight  hundred 
francs." 

"Eight  hundred!" 

'  Yes.  Millet  would  have  sold  it  for  a  pork  chop. 
Yes,  I  got  eight  hundred  francs  for  that  little  thing. 
I  wish  I  could  get  it  back  for  eighty  thousand. 
But  that  time's  gone  by.  I  made  a  very  nice  picture 
of  that  man's  house,  and  I  wanted  to  offer  it  to  him 
for  ten  francs,  but  that  wouldn't  answer,  seeing  I 
was  the  pupil  of  such  a  master,  so  I  sold  it  to  him 
for  a  hundred.  I  sent  the  eight  hundred  francs 
straight  back  to  Millet  from  that  town  and  struck  out 
again  next  day. 

"  But  I  didn't  walk —  no.     I  rode.     I  have  ridden 

16 


242  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

ever  since.     I  sold  one  picture  every  day,  and  never 
tried  to  sell  two.      I  always  said  to  my  customer: 

1  I  am  a  fool  to  sell  a  picture  of  Francois  Mil 
let's  at  all,  for  that  man  is  not  going  to  live  three 
months,  and  when  he  dies  his  pictures  can't  be  had 
for  love  or  money.' 

*'  I  took  care  to  spread  that  little  fact  as  far  as  I 
could,  and  prepare  the  world  for  the  event. 

"  I  take  credit  to  myself  for  our  plan  of  selling 
the  pictures  —  it  was  mine.  I  suggested  it  that  last 
evening  when  we  were  laying  out  our  campaign,  and 
all  three  of  us  agreed  to  give  it  a  good  fair  trial  be 
fore  giving  it  up  for  some  other.  It  succeeded  with 
all  of  us.  I  walked  only  two  days,  Claude  walked 
two  —  both  of  us  afraid  to  make  Millet  celebrated 
too  close  to  home  —  but  Carl  walked  only  half  a 
day,  the  bright,  conscienceless  rascal,  and  after  that 
he  traveled  like  a  duke. 

11  Every  now  and  then  we  got  in  with  a  country 
editor  and  started  an  item  around  through  the  press ; 
not  an  item  announcing  that  a  new  painter  had  been 
discovered,  but  an  item  which  let  on  that  everybody 
knew  Francois  Millet;  not  an  item  praising  him  in 
any  way,  but  merely  a  word  concerning  the  present 
condition  of  the  'master' — sometimes  hopeful, 
sometimes  despondent,  but  always  tinged  with  fears 
for  the  worst.  We  always  marked  these  paragraphs, 
and  sent  the  papers  to  all  the  people  who  had 
bought  pictures  of  us. 

"  Carl  was  soon  in  Paris.,  and  he  worked  things 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  243 

with  a  high  hand.  He  made  friends  with  the  cor 
respondents,  and  got  Millet's  condition  reported  to 
England  and  all  over  the  continent,  and  America, 
and  everywhere. 

' '  At  the  end  of  six  weeks  from  the  start,  we  three 
met  in  Paris  and  called  a  halt,  and  stopped  sending 
back  to  Millet  for  additional  pictures.  The  boom 
was  so  high,  and  everything  so  ripe,  that  we  saw 
that  it  would  be  a  mistake  not  to  strike  now,  right 
away,  without  waiting  any  longer.  So  we  wrote 
Millet  to  go  to  bed  and  begin  to  waste  away  pretty 
fast,  for  we  should  like  him  to  die  in  ten  days  if  he 
could  get  ready. 

"  Then  we  figured  up  and  found  that  among  us  we 
had  sold  eighty-five  small  pictures  and  studies,  and 
had  sixty- nine  thousand  francs  to  show  for  it.  Carl 
had  made  the  last  sale  and  the  most  brilliant  one  of 
all.  He  sold  the  '  Angelus  '  for  twenty-two  hundred 
francs.  How  we  did  glorify  him!  —  not  foreseeing 
that  a  day  was  coming  by  and  by  when  France  would 
struggle  to  own  it  and  a  stranger  would  capture  it 
for  five  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  cash. 

1 '  We  had  a  wind-up  champagne  supper  that 
night,  and  next  day  Claude  and  I  packed  up  and 
went  off  to  nurse  Millet  through  his  last  days  and 
keep  busybodies  out  of  the  house  and  send  daily 
bulletins  to  Carl  in  Paris  for  publication  in  the 
papers  of  several  continents  for  the  information  of  a 
waiting  world.  The  sad  end  came  at  last,  and  Carl 
was  there  in  time  to  help  in  the  final  mournful  rites. 


244  Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead 

'You  remember  that  great  funeral,  and  what  a 
stir  it  made  all  over  the  globe,  and  how  the  illus 
trious  of  two  worlds  came  to  attend  it  and  testify 
their  sorrow.  We  four  —  still  inseparable  —  carried 
the  coffin,  and  would  allow  none  to  help.  And  we 
were  right  about  that,  because  it  hadn't  anything  in 
it  but  a  wax  figure,  and  any  other  coffin-bearers 
would  have  found  fault  with  the  weight.  Yes,  we 
same  old  four,  who  had  lovingly  shared  privation 
together  in  the  old  hard  times  now  gone  forever, 
carried  the  cof —  ' ' 

"  Which  f our  ?" 

4  We  four  —  for  Millet  helped  to  carry  his  own 
coffin.  In  disguise,  you  know.  Disguised  as  a 
relative  —  distant  relative. ' ' 

44  Astonishing!  " 

4 'But  true,  just  the  same.  Well,  you  remember 
how  the  pictures  went  up.  Money?  We  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  There's  a  man  in  Paris 
to-day  who  owns  seventy  Millet  pictures.  He  paid 
us  two  million  francs  for  them.  And  as  for  the 
bushels  of  sketches  and  studies  which  Millet  shoveled 
out  during  the  six  weeks  that  we  were  on  the  road, 
well,  it  would  astonish  you  to  know  the  figure  we 
sell  them  at  nowadays  —  that  iis,  when  we  consent 
to  let  one  go  !  " 

44  It  is  a  wonderful  history,  perfectly  wonderful !  " 

"Yes  —  it  amounts  to  that." 

44  Whatever  became  of  Millet?  " 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret?  " 


Is  He  Living  or  Is  He  Dead  245 

"lean." 

44  Do  you  remember  the  man  I  called  your  atten 
tion  to  in  the  dining-room  to-day?  That  was 
Francois  Millet." 

41  Great—  " 

"  Scott!  Yes.  For  once  they  didn't  starve  a 
genius  to  death  and  then  put  into  other  pockets  the 
rewards  he  should  have  had  himself.  This  song 
bird  was  not  allowed  to  pipe  out  its  heart  unheard 
and  then  be  paid  with  the  cold  pomp  of  a  big 
funeral.  We  looked  out  for  that." 


MY  BOYHOOD  DREAMS 

THE  dreams  of  my  boyhood?  No,  they  have  not 
been  realized.  For  all  who  are  old,  there  is 
something  infinitely  pathetic  about  the  subject  which 
you  have  chosen,  for  in  no  gray-head's  case  can  it 
suggest  any  but  one  thing  —  disappointment.  Dis 
appointment  is  its  own  reason  for  its  pain :  the 
quality  or  dignity  of  the  hope  that  failed  is  a  matter 
aside.  The  dreamer's  valuation  of  a  thing  lost  — 
not  another  man's  —  is  the  only  standard  to  measure 
it  by,  and  his  grief  for  it  makes  it  large  and  great 
and  fine,  and  is  worthy  of  our  reverence  in  all  cases. 
We  should  carefully  remember  that.  There  are  six 
teen  hundred  million  people  in  the  world.  Of  these 
there  is  but  a  trifling  number  —  in  fact,  only  thirty- 
eight  million  —  who  can  understand  why  a  person 
should  have  an  ambition  to  belong  to  the  French 
army;  and  why,  belonging  to  it,  he  should  be  proud 
of  that;  and  why,  having  got  down  that  far,  he 
should  want  to  go  on  down,  down,  down  till  he 
struck  bottom  and  got  on  the  General  Staff;  and 
why,  being  stripped  of  his  livery,  or  set  free  and 
reinvested  with  his  self-respect  by  any  other  quick 

(346) 


My  Boyhood  Dreams  24/ 

and  thorough  process,  let  it  be  what  it  might,  he 
should  wish  to  return  to  his  strange  serfage.  But 
no  matter:  the  estimate  put  upon  these  things  by 
the  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty  millions  is  no  proper 
measure  of  their  value:  the  proper  measure,  the 
just  measure,  is  that  which  is  put  upon  them  by 
Dreyfus,  and  is  cipherable  merely  upon  the  littleness 
or  the  vastness  of  the  disappointment  which  their 
loss  cost  him. 

There  you  have  it:  the  measure  of  the  magnitude 
of  a  dream-failure  is  the  measure  of  the  disappoint 
ment  the  failure  cost  the  dreamer;  the  value,  in 
others'  eyes,  of  the  thing  lost,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter.  With  this  straightening-out  and 
classification  of  the  dreamer's  position  to  help  us, 
perhaps  we  can  put  ourselves  in  his  place  and  re 
spect  his  dream  —  Dreyfus's,  and  the  dreams  our 
friends  have  cherished  and  reveal  to  us.  Some  that 
I  call  to  mind,  some  that  have  been  revealed  to  me, 
are  curious  enough;  but  we  may  not  smile  at  them, 
for  they  were  precious  to  the  dreamers,  and  their 
failure  has  left  scars  which  give  them  dignity  and 
pathos.  With  this  theme  in  my  mind,  dear  heads  that 
were  brown  when  they  and  mine  were  young  together 
rise  old  and  white  before  me  now,  beseeching  me  to 
speak  for  them,  and  most  lovingly  will  I  do  it. 

Howells,  Hay,  Aldrich,  Matthews,  Stockton, 
Cable,  Remus  —  how  their  young  hopes  and  am 
bitions  come  flooding  back  to  my  memory  now,  out 
of  the  vague  far  past,  the  beautiful  past,  the 


248  My  Boyhood  Dreams 

lamented  past!  I  remember  it  so  well  —  that  night 
we  met  together  —  it  was  in  Boston,  and  Mr.  Fields 
was  there,  and  Mr.  Osgood,  and  Ralph  Keeler,  and 
Boyle  O'Reilly,  lost  to  us  now  these  many  years  — 
and  under  the  seal  of  confidence  revealed  to  each 
other  what  our  boyhood  dreams  had  been :  dreams 
which  had  not  as  yet  been  blighted,  but  over  which 
was  stealing  the  gray  of  the  night  that  was  to  come 
—  a  night  which  we  prophetically  felt,  and  this  feel 
ing  oppressed  us  and  made  us  sad.  I  remember  that 
Howells's  voice  broke  twice,  and  it  was  only  with 
great  difficulty  that  he  was  able  to  go  on ;  in  the  end 
he  wept.  For  he  had  hoped  to  be  an  auctioneer. 
He  told  of  his  early  struggles  to  climb  to  his 
goal,  and  how  at  last  he  attained  to  within  a  single 
step  of  the  coveted  summit.  But  there  misfortune 
after  misfortune  assailed  him,  and  he  went  down, 
and  down,  and  down,  until  now  at  last,  weary  and 
disheartened,  he  had  for  the  present  given  up  the 
struggle  and  become  editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
This  was  in  1830.  Seventy  years  are  gone  since, 
and  where  now  is  his  dream?  It  will  never  be  ful 
filled.  And  it  is  best  so ;  he  is  no  longer  fitted  for 
the  position ;  no  one  would  take  him  now ;  even  if 
he  got  it,  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  himself  credit 
in  it,  on  account  of  his  deliberateness  of  speech  and 
lack  of  trained  professional  vivacity;  he  would  be 
put  on  real  estate,  and  would  have  the  pain  of  seeing 
younger  and  abler  men  intrusted  with  the  furniture 
and  other  such  goods  —  goods  which  draw  a  mixed 


My  Boyhood  Dreams  249 

and  intellectually  low  order  of  customers,  who  must 
be  beguiled  of  their  bids  by  a  vulgar  and  specialized 
humor  and  sparkle,  accompanied  with  antics. 

But  it  is  not  the  thing  lost  that  counts,  but  only  the 
disappointment  the  loss  brings  to  the  dreamer  that 
had  coveted  that  thing  and  had  set  his  heart  of 
hearts  upon  it;  and  when  we  remember  this,  a  great 
wave  of  sorrow  for  Howells  rises  in  our  breasts,  and 
we  wish  for  his  sake  that  his  fate  could  have  been 
different. 

At  that  time  Hay's  boyhood  dream  was  not  yet 
past  hope  of  realization,  but  it  was  fading,  dimming, 
wasting  away,  and  the  wind  of  a  growing  apprehen 
sion  was  blowing  cold  over  the  perishing  summer  of 
his  life.  In  the  pride  of  his  young  ambition  he  had 
aspired  to  be  a  steamboat  mate;  and  in  fancy 
saw  himself  dominating  a  forecastle  some  day  on  the 
Mississippi  and  dictating  terms  to  roustabouts  in 
high  and  wounding  tones.  I  look  back  now,  from 
this  far  distance  of  seventy  years,  and  note  with  sor 
row  the  stages  of  that  dream's  destruction.  Hay's 
history  is  but  Howells's,  with  differences  of  detail. 
Hay  climbed  high  toward  his  ideal;  when  success 
seemed  almost  sure,  his  foot  upon  the  very  gang 
plank,  his  eye  upon  the  capstan,  misfortune  came 
and  his  fall  began.  Down  —  down  —  down  —  ever 
down :  Private  Secretary  to  the  President ;  Colonel 
in  the  fiekl ;  Charge  d' Affaires  in  Paris;  Charge^ 
d' Affaires  in  Vienna;  Poet;  Editor  of  the  Tribune* 
Biographer  of  Lincoln;  Ambassador  to  England*, 


250  My  Boyhood  Dreams 

and  now  at  last  there  he  lies  —  Secretary  of  State, 
Head  of  Foreign  Affairs.  And  he  has  fallen  like 
Lucifer,  never  to  rise  again.  And  his  dream — • 
where  now  is  his  dream?  Gone  down  in  blood  and 
tears  with  the  dream  of  the  auctioneer. 

And  the  young  dream  of  Aldrich  —  where  is  that? 
I  remember  yet  how  he  sat  there  that  night  fondling 
it,  petting  it ;  seeing  it  recede  and  ever  recede ;  try 
ing  to  be  reconciled  and  give  it  up,  but  not  able  yet 
to  bear  the  thought ;  for  it  had  been  his  hope  to  be 
a  horse-doctor.  He  also  climbed  high,  but,  like  the 
others,  fell;  then  fell  again,  and  yet  again,  and 
again  and  again.  And  now  at  last  he  can  fall  no 
further.  He  is  old  now,  he  has  ceased  to  struggle, 
and  is  only  a  poet.  No  one  would  risk  a  horse  with 
him  now.  His  dream  is  over. 

Has  any  boyhood  dream  ever  been  fulfilled?  I 
must  doubt  it.  Look  at  Brander  Matthews.  He 
wanted  to  be  a  cowboy.  What  is  he  to-day? 
Nothing  but  a  professor  in  a  university.  Will  he 
ever  be  a  cowboy?  It  is  hardly  conceivable. 

Look  at  Stockton.  What  was  Stockton's  young 
dream?  He  hoped  to  be  a  barkeeper.  See  where 
he  has  landed. 

Is  it  better  with  Cable?  What  was  Cable's  young 
dream?  To  be  ring-master  in  the  circus,  and  swell 
around  and  crack  the  whip.  What  is  he  to-day? 
Nothing  but  a  theologian  and  novelist. 

And  Uncle  Remus  —  what  was  his  young  dream? 
To  be  a  buccaneer.  Look  at  him  now. 


My  Boyhood  Dreams  251 

Ah,  the  dreams  of  our  youth,  how  beautiful  they 
are,  and  how  perishable !  The  ruins  of  these  might- 
have-beens,  how  pathetic!  The  heart-secrets  that 
were  revealed  that  night  now  so  long  vanished,  how 
they  touch  me  as  I  give  them  voice !  Those  sweet 
privacies,  how  they  endeared  us  to  each  other! 
We  were  under  oath  never  to  tell  any  of  these 
things,  and  I  have  always  kept  that  oath  inviolate 
when  speaking  with  persons  whom  I  thought  not 
worthy  to  hear  them. 

Oh,  our  lost  Youth  —  God  keep  its  memory  green 
in  our  hearts !  for  Age  is  upon  us,  with  the  in 
dignity  of  its  infirmities,  and  Death  beckons ! 


TO  THE  ABOVE  OLD  PEOPLE. 

Sleep  !  for  the  Sun  that  scores  another  Day 
Against  the  Tale  allotted  You  to  stay, 
Reminding  You,  is  Risen,  and  now 
Serves  Notice  —  ah,  ignore  it  while  You  may! 


The  chill  Wind  blew,  and  those  who  stood  before 
The  Tavern  murmured,  "  Having  drunk  his  Score, 

Why  tarries  He  with  empty  Cup  ?  Behold, 
The  Wine  of  Youth  once  poured,  is  poured  no  more. 

"Come  leave  the  Cup,  and  on  the  Winter's  Snow 
Your  Summer  Garment  of  Enjoyment  throw: 

Your  Tide  of  Life  is  ebbing  fast,  and  it, 
Exhausted  once,  for  You  no  more  shall  flow." 


252  My  Boyhood  Dreams 

While  yet  the  Phantam  of  false  Youth  was  mine, 
I  heard  a  Voice  from  out  the  Darkness  whine, 

"  O  Youth,  O  whither  gone?     Return, 
And  bathe  my  Age  in  thy  reviving  Wine." 

In  this  subduing  Draught  of  tender  green 
And  kindly  Absinthe,  with  its  wimpling  Sheen 

Of  dusky  half-lights,  let  me  drown 
The  haunting  Pathos  of  the  Might-Have-Been. 

For  every  nickeled  Joy,  marred  and  brief, 
We  pay  some  day  its  Weight  in  golden  Grief 

Mined  from  our  Hearts.     Ah,  murmur  not  — 
From  this  one-sided  Bargain  dream  of  no  Relief ! 

The  Joy  of  Life,  that  streaming  through  their  Veins 
Tumultuous  swept,  falls  slack  —  and  wanes 
The  Glory  in  the  Eye  —  and  one  by  one 
Life's  Pleasures  perish  and  make  place  for  Pains. 

Whether  one  hide  in  some  secluded  Nook  — 
Whether  at  Liverpool  or  Sandy  Hook  — 

'Tis  one.     Old  Age  will  search  him  out —  and  He 
He  —  He  —  when  ready  will  know  where  to  look. 

From  Cradle  unto  Grave  I  keep  a  House 
Of  Entertainment  where  may  drowse 

Bacilli  and  kindred  Germs  —  or  feed  —  or  breed 
Their  festering  Species  in  a  deep  Carouse. 

Think  —  in  this  battered  Caravanserai, 
Whose  Portals  open  stand  all  Night  and  Day, 
How  Microbe  after  Microbe  with  his  Pomp 
Arrives  unasked,  and  comes  to  stay. 

Oup  ivory  Teeth,  confessing  to  the  Lust 
Of  masticating,  once,  now  own  Disgust 

Of  Clay-plug' d  Cavities  —  full  soon  our  Snags 
Are  emptied,  and  our  Mouths  are  filled  with  Dust. 


My  Boyhood  Dreams  253 

Our  Gums  forsake  the  Teeth  and  tender  grow, 
And  fat,  like  over-ripened  Figs  —  we  know 

The  Sign  —  the  Riggs  Disease  is  ours,  and  we 
Must  list  this  Sorrow,  add  another  Woe. 

Our  Lungs  begin  to  fail  and  soon  we  Cough, 
And  chilly  Streaks  play  up  our  Backs,  and  off 

Our  fever'd  Foreheads  drips  an  icy  Sweat  — 
We  scoffed  before,  but  now  we  may  not  scoff. 

Some  for  the  Bunions  that  afflict  us  prate 
Of  Plasters  unsurpassable,  and  hate 

To  cut  a  Corn  —  ah  cut,  and  let  the  Plaster  go, 
Nor  murmur  if  the  Solace  come  too  late. 

Some  for  the  Honors  of  Old  Age,  and  some 
Long  for  its  Respite  from  the  Hum 

And  Clash  of  sordid  Strife  —  O  Fools, 
The  Past  should  teach  them  what's  to  Come: 

Lo,  for  the  Honors,  cold  Neglect  instead ! 
For  Respite,  disputatious  Heirs  a  Bed 

Of  Thorns  for  them  will  furnish.     Go, 
Seek  not  Here  for  Peace  —  but  Yonder  —  with  the  Dead. 

For  whether  Zal  and  Rustam  heed  this  Sign, 
And  even  smitten  thus,  will  not  repine, 

Let  Zal  and  Rustam  shuffle  as  they  may, 
The  Fine  once  levied  they  must  Cash  the  Fine. 

O  Voices  of  the  Long  Ago  that  were  so  dear ! 
Fall'n  Silent,  now,  for  many  a  Mould'ring  Year, 

O  whither  are  ye  flown?     Come  back, 
And  break  my  Heart,  but  bless  my  grieving  ear. 

Some  happy  Day  my  Voice  will  Silent  fall, 
And  answer  not  when  some  that  love  it  call : 

Be  glad  for  Me  when  this  you  note  —  and  think 
I've  found  the  Voices  lost,  beyond  the  Pall. 


254  My  Boyhood  Dreams 

So  let  me  grateful  drain  the  Magic  Bowl 
That  medicines  hurt  Minds  and  on  the  Soul 

The  Healing  of  its  Peace  doth  lay  —  if  then 
Death  claim  me  —  Welcome  be  his  Dole  ! 
SANNA,  SWEDEN,  September  i$tk. 

Private. —  If  you  don't  know  what  Riggs's  Disease  of  the  Teeth  is, 
the  dentist  will  tell  you.  I've  had  it —  and  it  is  more  than  interesting. 

S.  L,  C. 

EDITORIAL  NOTE. 

Fearing  that  there  might  be  some  mistake,  we  submitted  a  proof  of 
this  article  to  the  (American)  gentlemen  named  in  it,  and  asked  them 
to  correct  any  errors  of  detail  that  might  have  crept  in  among  the  facts. 
They  reply  with  some  asperity  that  errors  cannot  creep  in  among  facts 
where  there  are  no  facts  for  them  to  creep  in  among;  and  that  none  are 
discoverable  in  this  article,  but  only  baseless  aberrations  of  a  disordered 
mind.  They  have  no  recollection  of  any  such  night  in  Boston,  nor  else 
where;  and  in  their  opinion  there  was  never  any  such  night.  They 
have  met  Mr.  Twain,  but  have  had  the  prudence  not  to  intrust  any 
privacies  to  him  —  particularly  under  oath;  and  they  think  they  now  see 
that  this  prudence  was  justified,  since  he  has  been  untrustworthy  enough 
to  even  betray  privacies  which  had  no  existence.  Further  they  think 
it  a  strange  thing  that  Mr.  Twain,  who  was  never  invited  to  meddle  with 
anybody's  boyhood  dreams  but  his  own,  has  been  so  gratuitously  anxious 
to  see  that  other  people's  are  placed  before  the  world  that  he  has  quite 
lost  his  head  in  his  zeal  and  forgotten  to  make  any  mention  of  his  own  at 
all.  Provided  we  insert  this  explanation,  they  are  willing  to  let  his  article 
pass;  otherwise  they  must  require  its  suppression  in  the  interest  of  truth. 

P.  S. —  These  replies  having  left  us  in  some  perplexity,  and  also  in 
some  fear  lest  they  might  distress  Mr.  Twain  if  published  without  his 
privity,  we  judged  it  but  fair  to  submit  them  to  him  and  give  him  an 
opportunity  to  defend  himself.  But  he  does  not  seem  to  be  troubled,  or 
even  aware  that  he  is  in  a  delicate  situation.  He  merely  says: 

"Do  not  worry  about  those  former  young  people.  They  can  write 
good  literature,  but  when  it  comes  to  speaking  the  truth,  they  have  not 
had  my  training. —  MARK  TWAIN." 

The  last  sentence  seems  obscure,  and  liable  to  an  unfortunate  con 
struction.  It  plainly  needs  refashioning,  but  we  cannot  take  the  responsi 
bility  of  doing  it. —  EDITOR. 


THE  AUSTRIAN  EDISON  KEEPING 
SCHOOL  AGAIN 

BY  a  paragraph  in  the  Freie  Prcsse  it  appears  that 
Jan  Szczepanik,  the  youthful  inventor  of  the 

telelectroscope "  (for  seeing  at  great  distances) 
and  some  other  scientific  marvels,  has  been  having 
an  odd  adventure,  by  help  of  the  state. 

Vienna  is  hospitably  ready  to  smile  whenever  there 
is  an  opportunity,  and  this  seems  to  be  a  fair  one. 
Three  or  four  years  ago,  when  Szczepanik  was 
nineteen  or  twenty  years  old,  he  was  a  schoolmaster 
in  a  Moravian  village,  on  a  salary  of  —  I  forget  the 
amount,  but  no  matter;  there  was  not  enough  of  it 
to  remember.  His  head  was  full  of  inventions,  and 
in  his  odd  hours  he  began  to  plan  them  out.  He 
soon  perfected  an  ingenious  invention  for  applying 
photography  to  pattern-designing  as  used  in  the 
textile  industries,  whereby  he  proposed  to  reduce 
the  customary  outlay  of  time,  labor,  and  money 
expended  on  that  department  of  loom-work  to  next 
to  nothing.  He  wanted  to  carry  his  project  to 
Vienna  and  market  it ;  and  as  he  could  not  get  leave 
of  absence,  he  made  his  trip  without  leave.  This 

(365) 


256     The  Austrian  Edison  Keeping  School  Again 

lost  him  his  place,  but  did  not  gain  him  his  market. 
When  his  money  ran  out  he  went  back  home,  and 
was  presently  reinstated.  By  and  by  he  deserted 
once  more,  and  went  to  Vienna,  and  this  time  he 
made  some  friends  who  assisted  him,  and  his  inven 
tion  was  sold  to  England  and  Germany  for  a  great 
sum.  During  the  past  three  years  he  has  been  ex 
perimenting  and  investigating  in  velvety  comfort. 
His  most  picturesque  achievement  is  his  telelectro- 
scope,  a  device  which  a  number  of  able  men  —  in 
cluding  Mr.  Edison,  I  think — had  already  tried  their 
hands  at,  with  prospects  of  eventual  success.  A 
Frenchman  came  near  to  solving  the  difficult  and  in 
tricate  problem  fifteen  years  ago,  but  an  essential 
detail  was  lacking  which  he  could  not  master,  and  he 
suffered  defeat.  Szczepanik's  experiments  with  his 
pattern-designing  project  revealed  to  him  the  secret 
of  the  lacking  detail.  He  perfected  his  invention, 
and  a  French  syndicate  has  bought  it,  and  saved  it 
for  exhibition  and  fortune-making  at  the  Paris 
world's  fair. 

As  a  schoolmaster  Szczepanik  was  exempt  from 
military  duty.  When  he  ceased  from  teaching,  be 
ing  an  educated  man  he  could  have  had  himself  en 
rolled  as  a  one-year  volunteer ;  but  he  forgot  to  do 
jt,  and  this  exposed  him  to  the  privilege,  and  also 
the  necessity,  of  serving  three  years  in  the  army. 
In  the  course  of  duty,  the  other  day,  an  official  dis 
covered  the  inventor's  indebtedness  to  the  state,  and 
took  the  proper  measures  to  collect.  At  first  there 


The  Austrian  Edison  Keeping  School  Again     257 

seemed  to  be  no  way  for  the  inventor  (and  the 
state)  out  of  the  difficulty.  The  authorities  were 
loath  to  take  the  young  man  out  of  his  great  labora 
tory,  where  he  was  helping  to  shove  the  whole 
human  race  along  on  its  road  to  new  prosperities  and 
scientific  conquests,  and  suspend  operations  in  his 
mental  Klondike  three  years,  while  he  punched  the 
empty  air  with  a  bayonet  in  a  time  of  peace ;  but 
there  was  the  law,  and  how  was  it  to  be  helped?  It 
was  a  difficult  puzzle,  but  the  authorities  labored  at 
it  until  they  found  a  forgotten  law  somewhere  which 
furnished  a  loop-hole  —  a  large  one,  and  a  long  one, 
too,  as  it  looks  to  me.  By  this  piece  of  good  luck 
Szczepanik  is  saved  from  soldiering,  but  he  becomes 
a  schoolmaster  again;  and  it  is  a  sufficiently  pictur 
esque  billet,  when  you  examine  it.  He  must  go  back 
to  his  village  every  two  months,  and  teach  his  school 
half  a  day  —  from  early  in  the  morning  until  noon; 
and,  to  the  best  of  my  understanding  of  the  pub 
lished  terms,  he  must  keep  this  up  the  rest  of  his 
life!  I  hope  so,  just  for  the  romantic  poeticalness 
of  it.  He  is  twenty-four,  strongly  and  compactly 
built,  and  comes  of  an  ancestry  accustomed  to  wait 
ing  to  see  its  great-grandchildren  married.  It  is 
almost  certain  that  he  will  live  to  be  ninety.  I  hope 
so.  This  promises  him  sixty-six  years  of  useful 
school  service.  Dissected,  it  gives  him  a  chance  to 
teach  school  396  half-days,  make  396  railway  trips 
going  and  396  back,  pay  bed  and  board  396  times 

in  the  village,  and  lose  possibly  1,200  days  from  his 
17 


258     The  Austrian  Edison  Keeping  School  Again 

laboratory  work  —  that  is  to  say,  three  years  and 
three  months  or  so.  And  he  already  owes  three 
years  to  this  same  account.  This  has  been  over 
looked;  I  shall  call  the  attention  of  the  authorities 
to  it.  It  may  be  possible  for  him  to  get  a  compro 
mise  on  this  compromise  by  doing  his  three  years  in 
the  army,  and  saving  one;  but  I  think  it  can't  hap 
pen.  This  government  "  holds  the  age"  on  him; 
it  has  what  is  technically  called  a  ' '  good  thing ' '  in 
financial  circles,  and  knows  a  good  thing  when  it 
sees  it.  I  know  the  inventor  very  well,  and  he  has 
my  sympathy.  This  Is  friendship.  But  I  am 
throwing  my  influence  with  the  government.  This 
is  politics. 

Szczepanik  left  for  his  village  in  Moravia  day  be 
fore  yesterday  to  "do  time  "  for  the  first  time  under 
his  sentence.  Early  yesterday  morning  he  started 
for  the  school  in  a  fine  carriage,  which  was  stocked 
with  fruits,  cakes,  toys,  and  all  sorts  of  knick- 
knacks,  rarities,  and  surprises  for  the  children,  and 
was  met  on  the  road  by  the  school  and  a  body  of 
schoolmasters  from  the  neighboring  districts,  march 
ing  in  column,  with  the  village  authorities  at  the 
head,  and  was  received  with  the  enthusiastic  welcome 
proper  to  the  man  who  had  made  their  village's 
name  celebrated,  and  conducted  in  state  to  the 
humble  doors  which  had  been  shut  against  him  as  a 
deserter  three  years  before.  It  is  out  of  materials 
like  these  that  romances  are  woven ;  and  when  the 
romancer  has  done  his  best,  he  has  not  improved 


The  Austrian  Edison  Keeping  School  Again     259 

upon  the  unpainted  facts.  Szczepanik  put  the  sap 
less  school-books  aside,  and  led  the  children  a  noli- 
day  dance  through  the  enchanted  lands  of  science 
and  invention,  explaining  to  them  some  of  the 
curious  things  which  he  had  .contrived,  and  the  laws 
which  governed  their  construction  and  performance, 
and  illustrating  these  matters  with  pictures  and 
models  and  other  helps  to  a  clear  understanding  of 
their  fascinating  mysteries.  After  this  there  was 
play  and  a  distribution  of  the  fruits  and  toys  and 
things;  and  after  this,  again,  some  more  science, 
including  the  story  of  the  invention  of  the  telephone, 
and  an  explanation  of  its  character  and  laws,  for  the 
convict  had  brought  a  telephone  along.  The 
children  saw  that  wonder  for  the  first  time,  and  they 
also  personally  tested  its  powers  and  verified  them. 
Then  school  *'  let  out "  ;  the  teacher  got  his  certifi 
cate,  all  signed,  stamped,  taxed,  and  so  on,  said 
good-by,  and  drove  off  in  his  carriage  under  a 
storm  of  "  Do  widzenia  /  "  ('*  Au  revoir  /  ")  from 
the  children,  who  will  resume  their  customary 
sobrieties  until  he  comes  in  August  and  uncorks  his 
flask  of  scientific  fire-water  again. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  ADAM'S  DIARY 

MONDAY. —  This  new  creature  with  the  long  hair 
is  a  good  deal  in  the  way.  It  is  always  hang 
ing  around  and  following  me  about.  I  don't  like 
this;  I  am  not  used  to  company.  I  wish  it  would 
stay  with  the  other  animals.  .  .  .  Cloudy  to-day, 
wind  in  the  east;  think  we  shall  have  rain.  .  .  . 
We  ?  Where  did  I  get  that  word  ?  —  I  remember 
now — -the  new  creature  uses  it. 

TUESDAY. —  Been  examining  the  great  waterfall. 
It  is  the  finest  thing  on  the  estate,  I  think.  The 
new  creature  calls  it  Niagara  Falls  —  why,  I  am  sure 
I  do  not  know.  Says  it  looks  like  Niagara  Falls. 
That  is  not  a  reason,  it  is  mere  waywardness  and 
imbecility.  I  get  no  chance  to  name  anything  my 
self.  The  new  creature  names  everything  that  comes 
along,  before  I  can  get  in  a  protest.  And  always 
that  same  pretext  is  offered  —  it  looks  like  the  thing. 
There  is  the  dodo,  for  instance.  Says  the  moment 
one  looks  at  it  one  sees  at  a  glance  that  it  * '  looks 
like  a  dodo."  It  will  have  to  keep  that  name,  no 
doubt.  It  wearies  me  to  fret  about  it,  and  it  does 
no  good,  anyway.  Dodo  !  It  looks  no  more  like  a 
dodo  than  I  do. 

WEDNESDAY. —  Built  me  a  shelter  against  the  rain, 

(260) 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  261 

but  could  not  have  it  to  myself  in  peace.  The  new 
creature  intruded.  When  I  tried  to  put  it  out  it  shed 
water  out  of  the  holes  it  looks  with,  and  wiped  it 
away  with  the  back  of  its  paws,  and  made  a  noise 
such  as  some  of  the  other  animals  make  when  they 
are  in  distress.  I  wish  it  would  not  talk;  it  is 
always  talking.  That  sounds  like  a  cheap  fling  at 
the  poor  creature,  a  slur ;  but  I  do  not  mean  it  so. 
I  have  never  heard  the  human  voice  before,  and  any 
new  and  strange  sound  intruding  itself  here  upon  the 
solemn  hush  of  these  dreaming  solitudes  offends  my 
ear  and  seems  a  false  note.  And  this  new  sound  is  so 
close  to  me ;  it  is  right  at  my  shoulder,  right  at  my  ear, 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  and  I  am  used 
only  to  sounds  that  are  more  or  less  distant  from  me. 
FRIDAY. —  The  naming  goes  recklessly  on,  in 
spite  of  anything  I  can  do.  I  had  a  very  good 
name  for  the  estate,  and  it  was  musical  and  pretty 
—  GARDEN  OF  EDEN.  Privately,  I  continue  to  call 
it  that,  but  not  any  longer  publicly.  The  new 
creature  says  it  is  all  woods  and  rocks  and  scenery 
and  therefore  has  no  resemblance  to  a  garden. 
Says  it  looks  like  a  park,  and  does  not  look  like 
anything  but  a  park.  Consequently,  without  con 
sulting  me,  it  has  been  new-named  —  NIAGARA 
FALLS  PARK.  This  is  sufficiently  high-handed,  it 
seems  to  me.  And  already  there  is  a  sign  up: 

KEEP  OFF 
THE  GRASS 

My  life  is  not  as  happy  as  it  was. 
17 


262  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

SATURDAY. —  The  new  creature  eats  too  much 
fruit.  We  are  going  to  run  short,  most  likely. 
"We"  again  — that  is  its  word;  mine,  too,  now, 
from  hearing  it  so  much.  Good  deal  of  fog  this 
morning.  I  do  not  go  out  in  the  fog  myself.  The 
new  creature  does.  It  goes  out  in  all  weathers,  and 
stumps  right  in  with  its  muddy  feet.  And  talks.  It 
used  to  be  so  pleasant  and  quiet  here. 

SUNDAY.— Pulled  through.  This  day  is  getting 
to  be  more  and  more  trying.  It  was  selected  and 
set  apart  last  November  as  a  day  of  rest.  I  had 
already  six  of  them  per  week  before.  This  morning 
found  the  new  creature  trying  to  clod  apples  out  of 
that  forbidden  tree. 

MONDAY. —  The  new  creature  says  its  name  is 
Eve.  That  is  all  right,  I  have  no  objections.  Says 
it  is  to  call  it  by,  when  I  want  it  to  come.  I  said  it 
was  superfluous,  then.  The  word  evidently  raised 
me  in  its  respect;  and  indeed  it  is  a  large,  good 
word  and  will  bear  repetition.  It  says  it  is  not  an 
It,  it  is  a  She.  This  is  probably  doubtful ;  yet  it  is 
all  one  to  me ;  what  she  is  were  nothing  to  me  if  she 
would  but  go  by  herself  and  not  talk. 

TUESDAY.— She  has  littered  the  whole  estate  with 
execrable  names  and  offensive  signs: 

THIS  WAY  TO  THE  WHIRLPOOL. 

THIS  WAY  TO  GOAT  ISLAND. 
CAVE  OF  THE  WINDS  THIS  WAY. 

She  says  this  park  would  make  a  tidy  summer 
resort  if  there  was  any  custom  for  it.  Summer 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  263 

resort  —  another  invention  of  hers  —  just  words, 
without  any  meaning.  What  is  a  summer  resort? 
But  it  is  best  not  to  ask  her,  she  has  such  a  rage  for 
explaining. 

FRIDAY. —  She  has  taken  to  beseeching  me  to  stop 
going  over  the  Falls.  What  harm  does  it  do? 
Says  it  makes  her  shudder.  I  wonder  why;  I 
have  always  done  it  —  always  liked  the  plunge,  and 
the  excitement  and  the  coolness.  I  supposed  it  was 
what  the  Falls  were  for.  They  have  no  other  use 
that  I  can  see,  and  they  must  have  been  made  for 
something.  She  says  they  were  only  made  for 
scenery  —  like  the  rhinoceros  and  the  mastodon. 

I  went  over  the  Falls  in  a  barrel  —  not  satisfactory 
to  her.  Went  over  in  a  tub  —  still  not  satisfactory. 
Swam  the  Whirlpool  and  the  Rapids  in  a  fig-leaf 
suit.  It  got  much  damaged.  Hence,  tedious  com 
plaints  about  my  extravagance.  I  am  too  much 
hampered  here.  What  I  need  is  change  of  scene. 

SATURDAY. —  I  escaped  last  Tuesday  night,  and 
traveled  two  days,  and  built  me  another  shelter  in  a 
secluded  place,  and  obliterated  my  tracks  as  well  as  I 
could,  but  she  hunted  me  out  by  means  of  a  beast 
which  she  has  tamed  and  calls  a  wolf,  and  came 
making  that  pitiful  noise  again,  and  shedding  that 
water  out  of  the  places  she  looks  with.  I  was 
obliged  to  return  with  her,  but  will  presently  emi 
grate  again  when  occasion  offers.  She  engages  her 
self  in  many  foolish  things ;  among  others,  to  study 
out  why  the  animals  called  lions  and  tigers  live  on 


264  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

grass  and  flowers,  when,  as  she  says,  the  sort  of  teeth 
they  wear  would  indicate  that  they  were  intended  to 
eat  each  other.  This  is  foolish,  because  to  do  that 
would  be  to  kill  each  other,  and  that  would  introduce 
what,  as  I  understand  it,  is  called  "death";  and 
death,  as  I  have  been  told,  has  not  yet  entered  the 
Park.  Which  is  a  pity,  on  some  accounts. 

SUNDAY. —  Pulled  through. 

MONDAY. —  I  believe  I  see  what  the  week  is  for : 
it  is  to  give  time  to  rest  up  from  the  weariness  of 
Sunday.  It  seems  a  good  idea.  .  .  .  She  has  been 
climbing  that  tree  again.  Clodded  her  out  of  it. 
She  said  nobody  was  looking.  Seems  to  consider 
that  a  sufficient  justification  for  chancing  any 
dangerous  thing.  Told  her  that.  The  word  justi 
fication  moved  her  admiration  —  and  envy,  too,  I 
thought.  It  is  a  good  word, 

TUESDAY.—  She  told  me  she  was  made  out  of  a 
rib  taken  from  my  body.  This  is  at  least  doubtful, 
if  not  more  than  that.  I  have  not  missed  any  rib. 
.  .  .  She  is  in  much  trouble  about  the  buzzard ; 
says  grass  does  not  agree  with  it;  is  afraid  she  can't 
raise  it;  thinks  it  was  intended  to  live  on  decayed 
flesh.  The  buzzard  must  get  along  the  best  it  can 
with  what  it  is  provided.  We  cannot  overturn  the 
whole  scheme  to  accommodate  the  buzzard. 

SATURDAY. —  She  fell  in  the  pond  yesterday  when 
she  was  looking  at  herself  in  it,  which  she  is  always 
doing.  She  nearly  strangled,  and  said  it  was  most 
uncomfortable.  This  made  her  sorry  for  the  crea- 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  265 

tures  which  live  in  there,  which  she  calls  fish,  for 
she  continues  to  fasten  names  on  to  things  that  don't 
need  them  and  don't  come  when  they  are  called  by 
them,  which  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence  to  her, 
she  is  such  a  numskull,  anyway;  so  she  got  a  lot  of 
them  out  and  brought  them  in  last  night  and  put 
them  in  my  bed  to  keep  warm,  but  I  have  noticed 
them  now  and  then  all  day  and  I  don't  see  that  they 
are  any  happier  there  than  they  were  before,  only 
quieter.  When  night  comes  I  shall  throw  them 
outdoors.  I  will  not  sleep  with  them  again,  for  I 
find  them  clammy  and  unpleasant  to  lie  among  when 
a  person  hasn't  anything  on. 

SUNDAY. —  Pulled  through. 

TUESDAY. — -  She  has  taken  up  with  a  snake  now. 
The  other  animals  are  glad,  for  she  was  always  ex 
perimenting  with  them  and  bothering  them;  and  I 
am  glad  because  the  snake  talks,  and  this  enables  me 
to  get  a  rest. 

FRIDAY. —  She  says  the  snake  advises  her  to  try 
the  fruit  of  that  tree,  and  says  the  result  will  be  a 
great  and  fine  and  noble  education.  I  told  her  there 
would  be  another  result,  too  —  it  would  introduce 
death  into  the  world.  That  was  a  mistake  —  it  had 
been  better  to  keep  the  remark  to  myself;  it  only 
gave  her  an  idea  —  she  could  save  the  sick  buzzard, 
and  furnish  fresh  meat  to  the  despondent  lions  and 
tigers.  I  advised  her  to  keep  away  from  the  tree. 
She  said  she  wouldn't.  I  foresee  trouble.  Will 
emigrate. 


266  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

WEDNESDAY.- — I  have  had  a  variegated  time.  I 
escaped  last  night,  and  rode  a  horse  all  night  as  fast 
as  he  could  go,  hoping  to  get  clear  out  of  the  Park 
and  hide  in  some  other  country  before  the  trouble 
should  begin;  but  it  was  not  to  be.  About  an  hour 
after  sun-up,  as  I  was  riding  through  a  flowery  plain 
where  thousands  of  animals  were  grazing,  slumber 
ing,  or  playing  with  each  other,  according  to  their 
wont,  all  of  a  sudden  they  broke  into  a  tempest  of 
frightful  noises,  and  in  one  moment  the  plain  was  a 
frantic  commotion  and  every  beast  was  destroying 
its  neighbor.  I  knew  what  it  meant  —  Eve  had 
eaten  that  fruit,  and  death  was  come  into  the  world. 
.  .  .  The  tigers  ate  my  horse,  paying  no  attention 
when  I  ordered  them  to  desist,  and  they  would  have 
eaten  me  if  I  had  stayed  —  which  I  didn't,  but  went 
away  in  much  haste.  ...  I  found  this  place,  out 
side  the  Park,  and  was  fairly  comfortable  for  a  few 
days,  but  she  has  found  me  out.  Found  me  out, 
and  has  named  the  place  Tonawanda  —  says  it  looks 
like  that.  In  fact  I  was  not  sorry  she  came,  for 
there  are  but  meagre  pickings  here,  and  she  brought 
some  of  those  apples.  I  was  obliged  to  eat  them,  I 
was  so  hungry.  It  was  against  my  principles,  but  I 
find  that  principles  have  no  real  force  except  when 
one  is  well  fed.  .  .  .  She  came  curtained  in  boughs 
and  bunches  of  leaves,  and  when  I  asked  her  what 
she  meant  by  such  nonsense,  and  snatched  them 
away  and  threw  them  down,  she  tittered  and 
blushed.  I  had  never  seen  a  person  titter  and  blush 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  267 

before,  and  to  me  it  seemed  unbecoming  and  idiotic. 
She  said  I  would  soon  know  how  it  was  myself. 
This  was  correct.  Hungry  as  I  was,  I  laid  down 
the  apple  half-eaten  —  certainly  the  best  one  I  ever 
saw,  considering  the  lateness  of  the  season  — and 
arrayed  myself  in  the  discarded  boughs  and 
branches,  and  then  spoke  to  her  with  some  severity 
and  ordered  her  to  go  and  get  some  more  and  not 
make  such  a  spectacle  of  herself.  She  did  it,  and 
after  this  we  crept  down  to  where  the  wild-beast 
battle  had  been,  and  collected  some  skins,  and  I 
made  her  patch  together  a  couple  of  suits  proper  for 
public  occasions.  They  are  uncomfortable,  it  is 
true,  but  stylish,  and  that  is  the  main  point  about 
clothes.  ...  I  find  she  is  a  good  deal  of  a  com 
panion.  I  see  I  should  be  lonesome  and  depressed 
without  her,  now  that  I  have  lost  my  property. 
Another  thing,  she  says  it  is  ordered  that  we  work 
for  our  living  hereafter.  She  will  be  useful.  I  will 
superintend. 

TEN  DAYS  LATER. —  She  accuses  me  of  being  the 
cause  of  our  disaster !  She  says,  with  apparent 
sincerity  and  truth,  that  the  Serpent  assured  her  that 
the  forbidden  fruit  was  not  apples,  it  was  chestnuts. 
I  said  I  was  innocent,  then,  for  I  had  not  eaten  any 
chestnuts.  She  said  the  Serpent  informed  her  that 
41  chestnut"  was  a  figurative  term  meaning  an  aged 
and  mouldy  joke.  I  turned  pale  at  that,  for  I  have 
made  many  jokes  to  pass  the  weary  time,  and  some 
of  them  could  have  been  of  that  sort,  though  I  had 


268  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

honestly  supposed  that  they  were  new  when  I  made 
them.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  made  one  just  at  the 
time  of  the  catastrophe.  I  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
I  had  made  one  to  myself,  though  not  aloud.  It 
was  this.  I  was  thinking  about  the  Falls,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  "  How  wonderful  it  is  to  see  that  vast 
body  of  water  tumble  down  there!  "  Then  in  an 
instant  a  bright  thought  flashed  into  my  head,  and  I 
let  it  fly,  saying,  "  It  would  be  a  deal  more  wonderful 
to  see  it  tumble  up  there  !  "  —  and  I  was  just  about 
to  kill  myself  with  laughing  at  it  when  all  nature 
broke  loose  in  war  and  death  and  I  had  to  flee  for 
my  life.  'There,"  she  said,  with  triumph,  "that 
is  just  it;  the  Serpent  mentioned  that  very  jest,  and 
called  it  the  First  Chestnut,  and  said  it  was  coeval 
with  the  creation."  Alas,  I  am  indeed  to  blame. 
Would  that  I  were  not  witty;  oh,  that  I  had  never 
had  that  radiant  thought ! 

NEXT  YEAR. —  We  have  named  it  Cain.  She 
caught  it  while  I  was  up  country  trapping  on  the 
North  Shore  of  the  Erie;  caught  it  in  the  timber  a 
couple  of  miles  from  our  dug-out  —  or  it  might  have 
been  four,  she  isn't  certain  which.  It  resembles  us 
in  some  ways,  and  may  be  a  relation.  That  is  what 
she  thinks,  but  this  is  an  error,  in  my  judgment. 
The  difference  in  size  warrants  the  conclusion  that 
it  is  a  different  and  new  kind  of  animal  —  a  fish,  per 
haps,  though  when  I  put  it  in  the  water  to  see,  it 
sank,  and  she  plunged  in  and  snatched  it  out  before 
there  was  opportunity  for  the  experiment  to  deter- 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  269 

mine  the  matter.  I  still  think  it  is  a  fish,  but  she  is 
indifferent  about  what  it  is,  and  will  not  let  me  have 
it  to  try.  I  do  not  understand  this.  The  coming 
of  the  creature  seems  to  have  changed  her  whole 
nature  and  made  her  unreasonable  about  experi 
ments.  She  thinks  more  of  it  than  she  does  of  any 
of  the  other  animals,  but  is  not  able  to  explain  why. 
Her  mind  is  disordered  —  everything  shows  it. 
Sometimes  she  carries  the  fish  in  her  arms  half  the 
night  when  it  complains  and  wants  to  get  to  the 
water.  At  such  times  the  water  comes  out  of  the 
places  in  her  face  that  she  looks  out  of,  and  she  pats 
the  fish  on  the  back  and  makes  soft  sounds  with  her 
mouth  to  soothe  it,  and  betrays  sorrow  and  solicitude 
in  a  hundred  ways.  I  have  never  seen  her  do  like 
this  with  any  other  fish,  and  it  troubles  me  greatly. 
She  used  to  carry  the  young  tigers  around  so,  and 
play  with  them,  before  we  lost  our  property,  but  it 
was  only  play ;  she  never  took  on  about  them  like 
this  when  their  dinner  disagreed  with  them. 

SUNDAY. —  She  doesn't  work,  Sundays,  but  lies 
around  all  tired  out,  and  likes  to  have  the  fish  wallow 
over  her;  and  she  makes  fool  noises  to  amuse  it, 
and  pretends  to  chew  its  paws,  and  that  makes  it 
laugh.  I  have  not  seen  a  fish  before  that  could 
laugh.  This  makes  me  doubt.  ...  I  have  come 
to  like  Sunday  myself.  Superintending  all  the  week 
tires  a  body  so.  There  ought  to  be  more  Sundays. 
In  the  old  days  they  were  tough,  but  now  they 
come  handy. 


270  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

WEDNESDAY. —  It  isn't  a  fish.  I  cannot  quite 
make  out  what  it  is.  It  makes  curious  devilish 
noises  when  not  satisfied,  and  says  "goo-goo" 
when  it  is.  It  is  not  one  of  us,  for  it  doesn't  walk; 
it  is  not  a  bird,  for  it  doesn't  fly;  it  is  not  a  frog, 
for  it  doesn't  hop;  it  is  not  a  snake,  for  it  doesn't 
crawl;  I  feel  sure  it  is  not  a  fish,  though  I  cannot 
get  a  chance  to  find  out  whether  it  can  swim  or  not. 
It  merely  lies  around,  and  mostly  on  its  back,  with 
its  feet  up.  I  have  not  seen  any  other  animal  do 
that  before.  I  said  I  believed  it  was  an  enigma ;  but 
she  only  admired  the  word  without  understanding  it. 
In  my  judgment  it  is  either  an  enigma  or  some  kind 
of  a  bug.  If  it  dies,  I  will  take  it  apart  and  see  what 
its  arrangements  are.  I  never  had  a  thing  perplex 
me  so. 

THREE  MONTHS  LATER. —  The  perplexity  aug 
ments  instead  of  diminishing.  I  sleep  but  little.  It 
has  ceased  from  lying  around,  and  goes  about  on  its 
four  legs  now.  Yet  it  differs  from  the  other  four- 
legged  animals,  in  that  its  front  legs  are  unusually 
short,  consequently  this  causes  the  main  part  of  its 
person  to  stick  up  uncomfortably  high  in  the  air,  and 
this  is  not  attractive.  It  is  built  much  as  we  are, 
but  its  method  of  traveling  shows  that  it  is  not  of 
our  breed.  The  short  front  legs  and  long  hind  ones 
indicate  that  it  is  of  the  kangaroo  family,  but  it  is  a 
marked  variation  of  the  species,  since  the  true  kan 
garoo  hops,  whereas  this  one  never  does.  Still  it  is 
a  curious  and  interesting  variety,  and  has  not  been 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  271 

catalogued  before.  As  I  discovered  it,  I  have  felt 
justified  in  securing  the  credit  of  the  discovery  by 
attaching  my  name  to  it,  and  hence  have  called  it 
Kangaroorum  Adamiensis.  ...  It  must  have  been 
a  young  one  when  it  came,  for  it  has  grown  exceed 
ingly  since.  It  must  be  five  times  as  big,  now,  as  it 
was  then,  and  when  discontented  it  is  able  to  make 
from  twenty-two  to  thirty-eight  times  the  noise  it 
made  at  first.  Coercion  does  not  modify  this,  but 
has  the  contrary  effect.  For  this  reason  I  discon 
tinued  the  system.  She  reconciles  it  by  persuasion, 
and  by  giving  it  things  which  she  had  previously  told 
it  she  wouldn't  give  it.  As  already  observed,  I  was 
not  at  home  when  it  first  came,  and  she  told  me  she 
found  it  in  the  woods.  It  seems  odd  that  it  should 
be  the  only  one,  yet  it  must  be  so,  for  I  have  worn 
myself  out  these  many  weeks  trying  to  find  another 
one  to  add  to  my  collection,  and  for  this  one  to  play 
with;  for  surely  then  it  would  be  quieter  and  we 
could  tame  it  more  easily.  But  I  find  none,  nor  any 
vestige  of  any;  and  strangest  of  all,  no  tracks.  It 
has  to  live  on  the  ground,  it  cannot  help  itself; 
therefore,  how  does  it  get  about  without  leaving  a 
track?  I  have  set  a  dozen  traps,  but  they  do  no 
good.  I  catch  all  small  animals  except  that  one; 
animals  that  merely  go  into  the  trap  out  of  curiosity, 
I  think,  to  see  what  the  milk  is  there  for.  They 
never  drink  it. 

THREE    MONTHS    LATER. —  The   Kangaroo   still 
continues  to  grow,  which  is  very  strange  and  per- 


272  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

plexing.  I  never  knew  one  to  be  so  long  getting  its 
growth.  It  has  fur  on  its  head  now;  not  like 
kangaroo  fur,  but  exactly  like  our  hair  except  that 
it  is  much  finer  and  softer,  and  instead  of  being 
black  is  red.  I  am  like  to  lose  my  mind  over  the 
capricious  and  harassing  developments  of  this  un- 
classifiable  zoological  freak.  If  I  could  <catch 
another  one  —  but  that  is  hopeless;  it  is  a  new 
variety,  and  the  only  sample;  this  is  plain.  But  I 
caught  a  true  kangaroo  and  brought  it  in,  thinking 
that  this  one,  being  lonesome,  would  rather  have 
that  for  company  than  have  no  kin  at  all,  or  any 
animal  it  could  feel  a  nearness  to  or  get  sympathy 
from  in  its  forlorn  condition  here  among  strangers 
who  do  not  know  its  ways  or  habits,  or  what  to  do 
to  make  it  feel  that  it  is  among  friends ;  but  it  was 
a  mistake  —  it  went  into  such  fits  at  the  sight  of  the 
kangaroo  that  I  was  convinced  it  had  never  seen  one 
before.  I  pity  the  poor  noisy  little  animal,  but  there 
is  nothing  I  can  do  to  make  it  happy.  If  I  could 
tame  it  —  but  that  is  out  of  the  question;  the  more 
I  try  the  worse  I  seem  to  make  it.  It  grieves  me  to 
the  heart  to  see  it  in  its  little  storms  of  sorrow  and 
passion.  I  wanted  to  let  it  go,  but  she  wouldn't 
hear  of  it.  That  seemed  cruel  and  not  like  her ;  and 
yet  she  may  be  right.  It  might  be  lonelier  than 
ever;  for  since  I  cannot  find  another  one,  how  could 
it? 

FIVE  MONTHS  LATER. —  It   is   not  a   kangaroo. 
No,  for  it  supports  itself  by  holding  to  her  finger, 


Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary  273 

and  thus  goes  a  few  steps  on  its  hind  legs,  and  then 
falls  down.  It  is  probably  some  kind  of  a  bear; 
and  yet  it  has  no  tail  —  as  yet  —  and  no  fur,  except 
on  its  head.  It  still  keeps  on  growing  —  that  is  a 
curious  circumstance,  for  bears  get  their  growth 
earlier  than  this.  Bears  are  dangerous  —  since  our 
catastrophe  —  and  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  to  have  this 
one  prowling  about  the  place  much  longer  without  a 
muzzle  on.  I  have  offered  to  get  her  a  kangaroo  if 
she  would  let  this  one  go,  but  it  did  no  good  —  she 
is  determined  to  run  us  into  all  sorts  of  foolish  risks, 
I  think.  She  was  not  like  this  before  she  lost  her 
mind. 

A  FORTNIGHT  LATER. —  I  examined  its  mouth. 
There  is  no  danger  yet:  it  has  only  one  tooth.  It 
has  no  tail  yet.  It  makes  more  noise  now  than  it 
ever  did  before  —  and  mainly  at  night.  I  have 
moved  out.  But  I  shall  go  over,  mornings,  to 
breakfast,  and  see  if  it  has  more  teeth.  If  it  gets  a 
mouthful  of  teeth  it  will  be  time  for  it  to  go,  tail  or 
no  tail,  for  a  bear  does  not  need  a  tail  in  order  to  be 
dangerous. 

FOUR  MONTHS  LATER. —  I  have  been  off  hunting 
and  fishing  a  month,  up  in  the  region  that  she  calls 
Buffalo ;  I  don't  know  why,  unless  it  is  because  there 
are  not  any  buffaloes  there.  Meantime  the  bear  has 
learned  to  paddle  around  all  by  itself  on  its  hind 
legs,  and  says  "poppa"  and  "momma."  It  is 
certainly  a  new  species.  This  resemblance  to  words 
may  be  purely  accidental,  of  course ;  and  may  have 

18 


274  Extracts  from  Adam's  Diary 

no  purpose  or  meaning ;  but  even  in  that  case  it  is 
still  extraordinary,  and  is  a  thing  which  no  other 
bear  can  do.  This  imitation  of  speech,  taken 
together  with  general  absence  of  fur  and  entire 
absence  of  tail,  sufficiently  indicates  that  this  is  a 
new  kind  of  bear.  The  further  study  of  it  will  be 
exceedingly  interesting.  Meantime  I  will  go  off  on 
a  far  expedition  among  the  forests  of  the  north  and 
make  an  exhaustive  search.  There  must  certainly  be 
another  one  somewhere,  and  this  one  will  be  less 
dangerous  when  it  has  company  of  its  own  species. 
I  will  go  straightway;  but  I  will  muzzle  this  one 
first. 

THREE  MONTHS  LATER, —  It  has  been  a  weary, 
weary  hunt,  yet  I  have  had  no  success.  In  the 
meantime,  without  stirring  from  the  home  estate,  she 
has  caught  another  one !  I  never  saw  such  luck. 
I  might  have  hunted  these  woods  a  hundred  years,  I 
never  would  have  run  across  that  thing. 

NEXT  DAY. —  I  have  been  comparing  the  new  one 
with  the  old  one,  and  it  is  perfectly  plain  that  they 
are  the  same  breed.  I  was  going  to  stuff  one  of 
them  for  my  collection,  but  she  is  prejudiced  against 
it  for  some  reason  or  other ;  so  I  have  relinquished 
the  idea,  though  I  think  it  is  a  mistake.  It  would 
be  an  irreparable  loss  to  science  if  they  should  get 
away.  The  old  one  is  tamer  than  it  was  and  can 
laugh  and  talk  like  the  parrot,  having  learned  this, 
no  doubt,  from  being  with  the  parrot  so  much,  and 
having  the  imitative  faculty  in  a  highly  developed 


Hx tracts  from  Adam's  Diary  275 

degree.  I  shall  be  astonished  if  it  turns  out  to  be 
a  new  kind  of  parrot;  and  yet  I  ought  not  to  be 
astonished,  for  it  has  already  been  everything  else  it 
could  think  of  since  those  first  days  when  it  was 
a  fish.  The  new  one  is  as  ugly  now  as  the  old  one 
was  at  first;  has  the  same  sulphur-and-raw-meat 
complexion  and  the  same  singular  head  without  any 
fur  on  it.  She  calls  it  Abel. 

TEN  YEARS  LATER. —  They  are  boys  ;  we  found  it 
out  long  ago.  It  was  their  coming  in  that  small, 
immature  shape  that  puzzled  us ;  we  were  not  used 
to  it.  There  are  some  girls  now.  Abel  is  a  good 
boy,  but  if  Cain  had  stayed  a  bear  it  would  have 
improved  him.  After  all  these  years,  I  see  that  I 
was  mistaken  about  Eve  in  the  beginning ;  it  is  better 
to  live  outside  the  Garden  with  her  than  inside  it 
without  her.  At  first  I  thought  she  talked  too 
much ;  but  now  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  that  voice 
fall  silent  and  pass  out  of  my  life.  Blessed  be  the 
chestnut  that  brought  us  near  together  and  taught 
me  to  know  the  goodness  of  her  heart  and  the  sweet 
ness  of  her  spirit ! 


THE  DEATH  DISK* 


THIS  was  in  Oliver  Cromwell's  time.  Colonel 
Mayfair  was  the  youngest  officer  of  his  rank 
in  the  armies  of  the  Commonwealth,  he  being  but 
thirty  years  old.  But  young  as  he  was,  he  was  a 
veteran  soldier,  and  tanned  and  warworn,  for  he 
had  begun  his  military  life  at  seventeen;  he  had 
fought  in  many  battles,  and  had  won  his  high  place 
in  the  service  and  in  the  admiration  of  men,  step 
by  step,  by  valor  in  the  field.  But  he  was  in  deep 
trouble  now;  a  shadow  had  fallen  upon  his  fortunes. 
The  winter  evening  was  come,  and  outside  were 
storm  and  darkness;  within,  a  melancholy  silence ; 
for  the  Colonel  and  his  young  wife  had  talked  their 
sorrow  out,  had  read  the  evening  chapter  and  prayed 
the  evening  prayer,  and  there  was  nothing  more  to 
do  but  sit  hand  in  hand  and  gaze  into  the  fire,  and 
think  —  and  wait.  They  would  not  have  to  wait 
long;  they  knew  that,  and  the  wife  shuddered  at 
the  thought. 


*  The  text  for  this  story  is  a  touching  incident  mentioned  in  Carlyle's 
Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver  Cromwell. —  M.  T. 

(276) 


The  Death  Disk  277 

They  had  one  child  —  Abby,  seven  years  old,  their 
idol.  She  would  be  coming  presently  for  the  good 
night  kiss,  and  the  Colonel  spoke  now,  and  said : 

"  Dry  away  the  tears  and  let  us  seem  happy,  for 
her  sake.  We  must  forget,  for  the  time,  that  which 
is  to  happen." 

"  I  will.  I  will  shut  them  up  in  my  heart,  which 
is  breaking." 

"  And  we  will  accept  what  is  appointed  for  us, 
and  bear  it  in  patience,  as  knowing  that  whatsoever 
He  doeth  is  done  in  righteousness  and  meant  in 
kindness  —  " 

"  Saying,   His  will  be  done.     Yes,  I   can  say  it 
with  all  my  mind  and  soul  —  I  would  I  could  say 
it  with  my  heart.      Oh,  if  I  could  !  if  this  dear  hand 
which  I  press  and  kiss  for  the  last  time —  " 
'  'Sh!  sweetheart,  she  is  coming!  " 

A  curly-headed  little  figure  in  nightclothes  glided 
in  at  the  door  and  ran  to  the  father,  and  was  gathered 
to  his  breast  and  fervently  kissed  once,  twice,  three 
times. 

"Why,  papa,  you  mustn't  kiss  me  like  that: 
you  rumple  my  hair." 

'*  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  —  so  sorry:  do  you  forgive 
me,  dear?  " 

4  Why,  of  course,  papa.     But  are  you  sorry?  — 
not  pretending,  but  real,  right  down  sorry?  " 

44  Well,  you  can  judge  for  yourself,  Abby,"  and 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  made  believe 
to  sob.    The  child  was  filled  with  remorse  to  see  this 
19 


278  The  Death  Disk 

tragic  thing  which  she  had  caused,  and  she  began  to 
cry  herself,  and  to  tug  at  the  hands,  and  say : 

*'  Oh,  don't,  papa,  please  don't  cry;  Abby  didn't 
mean  it;  Abby  wouldn't  ever  do  it  again.  Please, 
papa !  ' '  Tugging  and  straining  to  separate  the 
fingers,  she  got  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  an  eye  behind 
them,  and  cried  out:  "Why,  you  naughty  papa, 
you  are  not  crying  at  all !  You  are  only  fooling ! 
And  Abby  is  going  to  mamma,  now:  you  don't 
treat  Abby  right." 

She  was  for  climbing  down,  but  her  father  wound 
his  arms  about  her  and  said:  "No,  stay  with  me, 
dear:  papa  was  naughty,  and  confesses  it,  and  is 
sorry  —  there,  let  him  kiss  the  tears  away  —  and  he 
begs  Abby's  forgiveness,  and  will  do  anything  Abby 
says  he  must  do,  for  a  punishment;  they're  all 
kissed  away  now,  and  not  a  curl  rumpled  —  and 
whatever  Abby  commands  —  ' ' 

And  so  it  was  made  up ;  and  all  in  a  moment  the 
sunshine  was  back  again  and  burning  brightly  in  the 
child's  face,  and  she  was  patting  her  father's  cheeks 
and  naming  the  penalty  —  "A  story  !  a  story  !  ' ' 

Hark! 

The  elders  stopped  breathing,  and  listened.  Foot 
steps  !  faintly  caught  between  the  gusts  of  wind. 
They  came  nearer,  nearer  —  louder,  louder  —  then 
passed  by  and  faded  away.  The  elders  drew  deep 
breaths  of  relief,  and  the  papa  said :  * '  A  story,  is 
it?  A  gay  one?  " 

"  No,  papa:   a  dreadful  one." 


The  Death  Disk  279 

Papa  wanted  to  shift  to  the  gay  kind,  but  the  child 
stood  by  her  rights  —  as  per  agreement,  she  was  to 
have  anything  she  commanded.  He  was  a  good 
Puritan  soldier  and  had  passed  his  word  —  he  saw 
that  he  must  make  it  good.  She  said : 

"  Papa,  we  mustn't  always  have  gay  ones.  Nurse 
says  people  don't  always  have  gay  times.  Is  that 
true,  papa?  She  says  so." 

The  mamma  sighed,  and  her  thoughts  drifted  to 
her  troubles  again.  The  papa  said,  gently:  '*  It  is 
true,  dear.  Troubles  have  to  come;  it  is  a  pity, 
but  it  is  true." 

"Oh,  then  tell  a  story  about  them,  papa  —  a 
dreadful  one,  so  that  we'll  shiver,  and  feel  just  as  if 
it  was  us.  Mamma,  you  snuggle  up  close,  and  hold 
one  of  Abby's  hands,  so  that  if  it's  too  dreadful  it'll 
be  easier  for  us  to  bear  it  if  we  are  all  snuggled  up 
together,  you  know.  Now  you  can  begin,  papa." 

"  Well,  once  there  were  three  Colonels —  " 

"Oh,  goody!  /know  Colonels,  just  as  easy! 
It's  because  you  are  one,  and  I  know  the  clothes. 
Go  on,  papa." 

4 '  And  in  a  battle  they  had  committed  a  breach  of 
discipline." 

The  large  words  struck  the  child's  ear  pleasantly, 
and  she  looked  up,  full  of  wonder  and  interest,  and 
said: 

44  Is  it  something  good  to  eat,  papa?  " 

The  parents  almost  smiled,  and  the  father 
answered : 


280  The  Death  Disk 

"  No,  quite  another  matter,  dear.  They  ex 
ceeded  their  orders." 

"Is  /tosometh — " 

"No;  it's  as  uneatable  as  the  other.  They  were 
ordered  to  feign  an  attack  on  a  strong  position  in  a 
losing  fight,  in  order  to  draw  the  enemy  about  and 
give  the  Commonwealth's  forces  a  chance  to  retreat; 
but  in  their  enthusiasm  they  overstepped  their 
orders,  for  they  turned  the  feint  into  a  fact,  and 
carried  the  position  by  storm,  and  won  the  day  and 
the  battle.  The  Lord  General  was  very  angry  at 
their  disobedience,  and  praised  them  highly,  and 
ordered  them  to  London  to  be  tried  for  their  lives." 

"Is  it  the  great  General  Cromwell,  papa?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I've  seen  him,  papa!  and  when  he  goes  by 
our  house  so  grand  on  his  big  horse,  with  the 
soldiers,  he  looks  so  —  so  — well,  I  don't  know  just 
how,  only  he  looks  as  if  he  isn't  satisfied,  and  you 
can  see  the  people  are  afraid  of  him;  but  Pm  not 
afraid  of  him,  because  he  didn't  look  like  that  at 
me." 

"Oh,  you  dear  prattler!  Well,  the  Colonels 
came  prisoners  to  London,  and  were  put  upon  their 
honor,  and  allowed  to  go  and  see  their  families  for 
the  last— " 

Hark! 

They  listened.  Footsteps  again;  but  again  they 
passed  by.  The  mamma  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
husband's  shoulder  to  hide  her  paleness. 


The  Death  Disk  281 

"  They  arrived  this  morning." 

The  child's  eyes  opened  wide. 

14  Why,  papa  !  is  it  a  true  story?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

11  Oh,  how  good  !  Oh,  it's  ever  so  much  better! 
Go  on,  papa.  Why,  mamma! — dear  mamma,  are 
you  crying?  " 

"  Never  mind  me,  dear  —  I  was  thinking  of  the  — 
of  the  —  the  poor  families." 

"  But  don't  cry,  mamma:  it'll  all  come  out  right 
—  you'll  see;  stones  always  do.  Go  on,  papa,  to 
where  they  lived  happy  ever  after;  then  she  won't 
cry  any  more.  You'll  see,  mamma.  Go  on,  papa." 

"  First,  they  took  them  to  the  Tower  before  they 
let  them  go  home." 

"Oh,  /know  the  Tower!  We  can  see  it  from 
here.  Go  on,  papa." 

"  I  am  going  on  as  well  as  I  can,  in  the  circum 
stances.  In  the  Tower  the  military  court  tried  them 
for  an  hour,  and  found  them  guilty,  and  condemned 
them  to  be  shot." 

"Killed,  papa?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  how  naughty  !  Dear  mamma,, you  are  cry 
ing  again.  Don't,  mamma;  it'll  soon  come  to  the 
good  place  —  you'll  see.  Hurry,  papa,  for  mam 
ma's  sake;  you  don't  go  fast  enough." 

"I  know  I  don't,  but  I  suppose  it  is  because  I 
stop  so  much  to  reflect." 

"  But  you  mustn't  do  it,  papa;  you  must  go  right 


232  The  Death  Disk 

44  Very  well,  then.     The  three  Colonels—  " 

44  Do  you  know  them,  papa?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

44  Oh,  I  wish  I  did!  I  love  Colonels.  Would 
they  let  me  kiss  them,  do  you  think?"  The 
Colonel's  voice  was  a  little  unsteady  when  he 
answered  — 

44  One  of  them  would,  my  darling!  There- — kiss 
rne  for  him." 

14  There,  papa  —  and  these  two  are  for  the  others. 
I  think  they  would  let  me  kiss  them,  papa;  for  I 
would  say,  4  My  papa  is  a  Colonel,  too,  and  brave, 
and  he  would  do  what  you  did;  so  it  can't  be 
wrong,  no  matter  what  those  people  say,  and  you 
needn't  be  the  least  bit  ashamed ;  '  then  they  would 
let  me, —  wouldn't  they,  papa?  " 

"4  God  knows  they  would,  child !  " 

14  Mamma! — oh,  mamma,  you  mustn't.  He's 
soon  coming  to  the  happy  place;  go  on,  papa." 

4  Then,  some  were  sorry  —  they  all  were;  that 
military  court,  I  mean ;  and  they  went  to  the  Lord 
General,  and  said  they  had  done  their  duty  —  for  it 
was  their  duty,  you  know  —  and  now  they  begged 
that  two  of  the  Colonels  might  be  spared,  and  only 
the  other  one  shot.  One  would  be  sufficient  for  an 
example  for  the  army,  they  thought.  But  the  Lord 
General  was  very  stern,  and  rebuked  them  foras 
much  as,  having  done  their  duty  and  cleared  their 
consciences,  they  would  beguile  him  to  do  less,  and 
so  smirch  his  soldierly  honor.  But  they  answered 


The  Death  Disk  283 

that  they  were  asking  nothing  of  him  that  they 
would  not  do  themselves  if  they  stood  in  his  great 
place  and  held  in  their  hands  the  noble  prerogative 
of  mercy.  That  struck  him,  and  he  paused  and 
stood  thinking,  some  of  the  sternness  passing  out  of 
his  face.  Presently  he  bid  them  wait,  and  he  retired 
to  his  closet  to  seek  counsel  of  God  in  prayer ;  and 
when  he  came  again,  he  said :  '  They  shall  cast  lots. 
That  shall  decide  it,  and  two  of  them  shall  live.'  " 

"  And  did  they,  papa,  did  they?  And  which  one 
is  to  die?  —  ah,  that  poor  man!  " 

4 'No.     They  refused." 

"  They  wouldn't  do  it,  papa?  " 

"No." 

"Why?" 

*  *  They  said  that  the  one  that  got  the  fatal  bean 
would  be  sentencing  himself  to  death  by  his  own 
voluntary  act,  and  it  would  be  but  suicide,  call  it  by 
what  name  one  might.  They  said  they  were  Chris 
tians,  and  the  Bible  forbade  men  to  take  their  own 
lives.  They  sent  back  that  word,  and  said  they  were 
ready —  let  the  court's  sentence  be  carried  into  effect. ' ' 

41  What  does  that  mean,  papa?  " 

"  They  — they  will  all  be  shot." 

Hark! 

The  wind?  No.  Tramp  —  tramp  - — tramp  — 
r-r-r-umble-dumdum,  r-r-rumble-dumdum  — 

44  Open — -in  the  Lord  General's  name  !  " 

44  Oh,  goodyr  papa,  it's  the  soldiers  !  — I  love  the 
soldiers  !  Let  me  let  them  in,  papa,  let  me!  " 


284  The  Death  Disk 

She  jumped  down,  and  scampered  to  the  door 
and  pulled  it  open,  crying  joyously:  "  Come  in! 
come  in !  Here  they  are,  papa !  Grenadiers !  / 
know  the  Grenadiers  !  ' ' 

The  file  marched  in  and  straightened  up  in  line  at 
shoulder  arms;  its  officer  saluted,  the  doomed 
Colonel  standing  erect  and  returning  the  courtesy, 
the  soldier  wife  standing  at  his  side,  white,  and  with 
features  drawn  with  inward  pain,  but  giving  no 
other  sign  of  her  misery,  the  child  gazing  on  the 
show  with  dancing  eyes.  .  .  . 

One  long  embrace,  of  father,  mother,  and  child ; 
then  the  order,  "  To  the  Tower  —  forward!" 
Then  the  Colonel  marched  forth  from  the  house 
with  military  step  and  bearing,  the  file  following; 
then  the  door  closed. 

"Oh,  mamma,  didn't  it  come  out  beautiful!  I 
told  you  it  would;  and  they're  going  to  the  Tower, 
and  he'll  see  them!  He—" 

"  Oh,  come  to  my  arms,  you  poor  innocent 
thing!" 

II 

The  next  morning  the  stricken  mother  was  not 
able  to  leave  her  bed ;  doctors  and  nurses  were 
watching  by  her,  and  whispering  together  now  and 
then ;  Abby  could  not  be  allowed  in  the  room ;  she 
was  told  to  run  and  play— mamma  was  very  ill. 
The  child,  muffled  in  winter  wraps,  went  out  and 
played  in  the  street  awhile;  then  it  struck  her  as 


The  Death  Disk  285 

strange,  and  also  wrong,  that  her  papa  should  be 
allowed  to  stay  at  the  Tower  in  ignorance  at  such  a 
time  as  this.  This  must  be  remedied;  she  would 
attend  to  it  in  person. 

An  hour  later  the  military  court  were  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  the  Lord  General.  He  stood  grim 
and  erect,  with  his  knuckles  resting  upon  the  table, 
and  indicated  that  he  was  ready  to  listen.  The 
spokesman  said :  '  *  We  have  urged  them  to  recon 
sider;  we  have  implored  them:  but  they  persist. 
They  will  not  cast  lots.  They  are  willing  to  die, 
but  not  to  defile  their  religion." 

The  Protector's  face  darkened,  but  he  said  noth 
ing.  He  remained  a  time  in  thought,  then  he  said : 
"They  shall  not  all  die;  the  lots  shall  be  cast  for 
them."  Gratitude  shone  in  the  faces  of  the  court. 
"  Send  for  them.  Place  them  in  that  room  there. 
Stand  them  side  by  side  with  their  faces  to  the  wall 
and  their  wrists  crossed  behind  them.  Let  me  have 
notice  when  they  are  there." 

When  he  was  alone  he  sat  down,  and  presently 
gave  this  order  to  an  attendant:  "  Go,  bring  me  the 
first  little  child  that  passes  by." 

The  man  was  hardly  out  at  the  door  before  he  was 
back  again  —  leading  Abby  by  the  hand,  her  gar 
ments  lightly  powdered  with  snow.  She  went 
straight  to  the  Head  of  the  State,  that  formidable 
personage  at  the  mention  of  whose  name  the  princi 
palities  and  powers  of  the  earth  trembled,  and 
climbed  up  in  his  lap,  and  said : 


286  The  Death  Disk 

"  I  know  you,  sir:  you  are  the  Lord  General;  I 
have  seen  you ;  I  have  seen  you  when  you  went  by 
my  house.  Everybody  was  afraid;  but  /  wasn't 
afraid,  because  you  didn't  look  cross  at  me;  you 
remember,  don't  you?  I  had  on  my  red  frock  — 
the  one  with  the  blue  things  on  it  down  the  front. 
Don't  you  remember  that?  " 

A  smile  softened  the  austere  lines  of  the  Pro 
tector's  face,  and  he  began  to  struggle  diplomatically 
with  his  answer: 

"Why,  let  me  see  —  I—  " 

"  I  was  standing  right  by  the  house  —  my  house, 
you  know." 

"Well,  you  dear  little  thing,  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  but  you  know —  " 

The  child  interrupted,  reproachfully: 

"Now  you  don't  remember  it.  Why,  I  didn't 
forget  you." 

' '  Now  I  am  ashamed :  but  I  will  never  forget  you 
again,  dear;  you  have  my  word  for  it.  You  will 
forgive  me  now,  won't  you,  and  be  good  friends 
with  me,  always  and  forever?  " 

*  Yes,  indeed  I  will,  though  I  don't  know  how 
you  came  to  forget  it ;  you  must  be  very  forgetful : 
but  I  am  too,  sometimes.  I  can  forgive  you  with 
out  any  trouble,  for  I  think  you  mean  to  be  good 
and  do  right,  and  I  think  you  are  just  as  kind  —  but 
you  must  snuggle  me  better,  the  way  papa  does  — 
it's  cold/' 

"You  shall  be  snuggled  to  your  heart's  content, 


The  Death  Disk  287 

little  new  friend  of  mine,  always  to  be  old  friend  of 
mine  hereafter,  isn't  it?  You  mind  me  of  my  little 
girl  —  not  little  any  more,  now  —  but  she  was  dear, 
and  sweet,  and  daintily  made,  like  you.  And  she 
had  your  charm,  little  witch — your  all-conquering 
sweet  confidence  in  friend  and  stranger  alike,  that 
wins  to  willing  slavery  any  upon  whom  its  precious 
compliment  falls.  She  used  to  lie  in  my  arms,  just 
as  you  are  doing  now ;  and  charm  the  weariness  and 
care  out  of  my  heart  and  give  it  peace,  just  as 
you  are  doing  now;  and  we  were  comrades,  and 
equals,  and  playfellows  together.  Ages  ago  it 
was,  since  that  pleasant  heaven  faded  away  and 
vanished,  and  you  have  brought  it  back  again;  — 
take  a  burdened  man's  blessing  for  it,  you  tiny 
creature,  who  are  carrying  the  weight  of  England 
while  I  rest!  " 

44  Did  you  love  her  very,  very,  very  much?  " 
"Ah,  you  shall  judge  by  this:   she  commanded 
and  I  obeyed!" 

1 '  I  think  you  are  lovely !  Will  you  kiss  me  ?  ' ' 
"Thankfully  —  and  hold  it  a  privilege,  too. 
There  —  this  one  is  for  you;  and  there  —  this  one 
is  for  her.  You  made  it  a  request;  and  you  could 
have  made  it  a  command,  for  you  are  representing 
her,  and  what  you  command  I  must  obey." 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  at  the 
idea  of  this  grand  promotion  —  then  her  ear  caught 
an  approaching  sound:  the  measured  tramp  of 
marching  men. 


288  The  Death  Disk 

"Soldiers! — soldiers,  Lord  General!  Abby 
wants  to  see  them  !  ' ' 

44  You  shall,  dear;  but  wait  a  moment,  I  have  a 
commission  for  you." 

An  officer  entered  and  bowed  low,  saying,  "  They 
are  come,  your  Highness,"  bowed  again,  and  retired. 

The  Head  of  the  Nation  gave  Abby  three  little 
disks  of  sealing-wax:  two  white,  and  one  a  ruddy 
red  —  for  this  one's  mission  was  to  deliver  death  to 
the  Colonel  who  should  get  it. 

<4  Oh,  what  a  lovely  red  one  !     Are  they  for  me?  " 

44  No,  dear;  they  are  for  others.  Lift  the  corner 
of  that  curtain,  there,  which  hides  an  open  door; 
pass  through,  and  you  will  see  three  men  standing 
in  a  row,  with  their  backs  toward  you  and  their 
hands  behind  their  backs  —  so  —  each  with  one  hand 
open,  like  a  cup.  Into  each  of  the  open  hands  drop 
one  of  those  things,  then  come  back  to  me." 

Abby  disappeared  behind  the  curtain,  and  the 
Protector  was  alone.  He  said,  reverently:  <4  Of  a 
surety  that  good  thought  came  to  me  in  my  per 
plexity  from  Him  who  is  an  ever  present  help  to 
them  that  are  in  doubt  and  seek  His  aid.  He 
knoweth  where  the  choice  should  fall,  and  has  sent 
His  sinless  messenger  to  do  His  will.  Another 
would  err,  but  He  cannot  err.  Wonderful  are  His 
ways,  and  wise  —  blessed  be  His  holy  Name!  " 

The  small  fairy  dropped  the  curtain  behind  her 
and  stood  for  a  moment  conning  with  alert  curiosity 
the  appointments  of  the  chamber  of  doom,  and  the 


The  Death  Disk  289 

rigid  figures  of  the  soldiery  and  the  prisoners ;  then 
her  face  lighted  merrily,  and  she  said  to  herself: 
1 '  Why,  one  of  them  is  papa !  I  know  his  back. 
He  shall  have  the  prettiest  one !  ' '  She  tripped 
gayly  forward  and  dropped  the  disks  into  the  open 
hands,  then  peeped  around  under  her  father's  arm 
and  lifted  her  laughing  face  and  cried  out : 

'Papa!  papa!  look  what  you've  got.  /gave  it 
to  you!  " 

He  glanced  at  the  fatal  gift,  then  sunk  to  his 
knees  and  gathered  his  innocent  little  executioner  to 
his  breast  in  an  agony  of  love  and  pity.  Soldiers, 
officers,  released  prisoners,  all  stood  paralyzed,  for 
a  moment,  at  the  vastness  of  this  tragedy,  then  the 
pitiful  scene  smote  their  hearts,  their  eyes  filled,  and 
they  wept  unashamed.  There  was  deep  and  rever 
ent  silence  during  some  minutes,  then  the  officer  of 
the  guard  moved  reluctantly  forward  and  touched 
his  prisoner  on  the  shoulder,  saying,  gently: 

"  It  grieves  me,  sir,  but  my  duty  commands." 

14  Commands  what?  "  said  the  child. 

44  I  must  take  him  away.     I  am  so  sorry." 

4 '  Take  him  away  ?     Where  ?  ' ' 

4  4  To  —  to  —  God  help  me  !  —  to  another  part  of 
the  fortress." 

"Indeed  you  can't.  My  mamma  is  sick,  and  I 
am  going  to  take  him  home."  She  released  herself 
and  climbed  upon  her  father's  back  and  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck.  4<  Now  Abby's  ready,  papa 
—  come  along." 

10 


290  The  Death  Disk 

"  My  poor  child,  I  can't.      I  must  go  with  them." 

The  child  jumped  to  the  ground  and  looked  about 
her,  wondering.  Then  she  ran  and  stood  before  the 
officer  and  stamped  her  small  foot  indignantly  and 
cried  out: 

"  I  told  you  my  mamma  is  sick,  and  you  might 
have  listened.  Let  him  go  —  you  must  /  ' ' 

"  Oh,  poor  child,  would  God  I  could,  but  indeed 
I  must  take  him  away.  Attention,  guard !  .  .  .  . 
fall  in  !  ....  shoulder  arms  !".... 

Abby  was  gone  —  like  a  flash  of  light.  In  a 
moment  she  was  back,  dragging  the  Lord  Protector 
by  the  hand.  At  this  formidable  apparition  all 
present  straightened  up,  the  officers  saluting  and  the 
soldiers  presenting  arms. 

"  Stop  them,  sir!  My  mamma  is  sick  and  wants 
my  papa,  and  I  told  them  so,  but  they  never  even 
listened  to  me,  and  are  taking  him  away." 

The  Lord  General  stood  as  one  dazed, 
*  Your  papa,  child?     Is  he  your  papa?  " 

"Why,  of  course  —  he  was  always  it.  Would  I 
give  the  pretty  red  one  to  any  other,  when  I  love 
him  so?  No  !  " 

A  shocked  expression  rose  in  the  Protector's  face, 
and  he  said : 

"  Ah,  God  help  me  !  through  Satan's  wiles  I  have 
done  the  cruelest  thing  that  ever  man  did  —  and 
there  is  no  help,  no  help  !  What  can  I  do?  " 

Abby  cried  out,  distressed  and  impatient:  "  Why, 
you  can  make  them  let  him  go,"  and  she  began  to 


The  Death  Disk  291 

sob.  "Tell  them  to  do  it!  You  told  me  to  com 
mand,  and  now  the  very  first  time  I  tell  you  to  do  a 
thing  you  don't  do  it!  " 

A  tender  light  dawned  in  the  rugged  old  face,  and 
the  Lord  General  laid  his  hand  upon  the  small 
tyrant's  head  and  said:  "God  be  thanked  for  the 
saving  accident  of  that  unthinking  promise;  and 
you,  inspired  by  Him,  for  reminding  me  of  my  for 
gotten  pledge,  O  incomparable  child !  Officer, 
obey  her  command  —  she  speaks  by  my  mouth. 
The  prisoner  is  pardoned ;  set  him  free ! ' ' 


WE  OUGHT  NEVER  TO  DO  WRONG  WHEN 
PEOPLE  ARE  LOOKING 


A  DOUBLE-BARRELED  DETECTIVE 
STORY 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE  first  scene  is  in  the  country,  in  Virginia;  the 
time,  1880.  There  has  been  a  wedding,  be 
tween  a  handsome  young  man  of  slender  means  and 
a  rich  young  girl  —  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight  and  a 
precipitate  marriage ;  a  marriage  bitterly  opposed  by 
the  girl's  widowed  father. 

Jacob  Fuller,  the  bridegroom,  is  twenty-six  years 
old,  is  of  an  old  but  unconsidered  family  which  had 
by  compulsion  emigrated  from  Sedgemoor,  and  for 
King  James's  purse's  profit,  so  everybody  said  — 
some  maliciously,  the  rest  merely  because  they  be 
lieved  it.  The  bride  is  nineteen  and  beautiful.  She 
is  intense,  high-strung,  romantic,  immeasurably 
proud  of  her  Cavalier  blood,  and  passionate  in  her 
love  for  her  young  husband.  For  its  sake  she 
braved  her  father's  displeasure,  endured  his  re 
proaches,  listened  with  loyalty  unshaken  to  his  warn 
ing  predictions,  and  went  from  his  house  without  his 
19  (293) 


294  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

blessing,  proud  and  happy  in  the  proofs  she  was 
thus  giving  of  the  quality  of  the  affection  which  had 
made  its  home  in  her  heart. 

The  morning  after  the  marriage  there  was  a  sad 
surprise  for  her.  Her  husband  put  aside  her  prof 
fered  caresses,  and  said : 

11  Sit  down.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I 
loved  you.  That  was  before  I  asked  your  father  to 
give  you  to  me.  His  refusal  is  not  my  grievance  — 
I  could  have  endured  that.  But  the  things  he  said 
of  me  to  you  —  that  is  a  different  matter.  There  — 
you  needn't  speak;  I  know  quite  well  what  they 
were;  I  got  them  from  authentic  sources.  Among 
other  things  he  said  that  my  character  was  written  in 
my  face;  that  I  was  treacherous,  a  dissembler,  a 
coward,  and  a  brute  without  sense  of  pity  or  com 
passion :  the  '  Sedgemoor  trade-mark,'  he  called  it 
—  and  '  white-sleeve  badge.'  Any  other  man  in  my 
place  would  have  gone  to  his  house  and  shot  him 
down  like  a  dog.  I  wanted  to  do  it,  and  was  minded 
to  do  it,  but  a  better  thought  came  to  me  :  to  put  him 
to  shame;  to  break  his  heart;  to  kill  him  by  inches. 
How  to  do  it?  Through  my  treatment  of  you,  his 
idol !  I  would  marry  you ;  and  then  —  Have 
patience.  You  will  see." 

From  that  moment  onward,  for  three  months,  the 
young  wife  suffered  all  the  humiliations,  all  the  in 
sults,  all  the  miseries  that  the  diligent  and  inventive 
mind  of  the  husband  could  contrive,  save  physical 
injuries  only.  Her  strong  pride  stood  by  her,  and 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  295 

she  kept  the  secret  of  her  troubles.  Now  and  then 
the  husband  said,  "Why  don't  you  go  to  your 
father  and  tell  him  ?  ' '  Then  he  invented  new  tor 
tures,  applied  them,  and  asked  again.  She  always 
answered,  "He  shall  never  know  by  my  mouth," 
and  taunted  him  with  his  origin;  said  she  was  the 
lawful  slave  of  a  scion  of  slaves,  and  must  obey,  and 
would  —  up  to  that  point,  but  no  further;  he  could 
kill  her  if  he  liked,  but  he  could  not  break  her;  it 
was  not  in  the  Sedgemoor  breed  to  do  it.  At  the 
end  of  the  three  months  he  said,  with  a  dark  signifi 
cance  in  his  manner,  4 '  I  have  tried  all  things  but 
one" — and  waited  for  her  reply.  *  Try  that," 
she  said,  and  curled  her  lip  in  mockery. 

That  night  he  rose  at  midnight  and  put  on  his 
clothes,  then  said  to  her, 

"  Get  up  and  dress !  " 

She  obeyed  —  as  always,  without  a  word.  He 
led  her  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  proceeded  to 
lash  her  to  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  public  road ; 
and  succeeded,  she  screaming  and  struggling.  He 
gagged  her  then,  struck  her  across  the  face  with  his 
cowhide,  and  set  his  bloodhounds  on  her.  They 
tore  the  clothes  off  her,  and  she  was  naked.  He 
called  the  dogs  off,  and  said : 

"You  will  be  found  —  by  the  passing  public. 
They  will  be  dropping  along  about  three  hours 
from  now,  and  will  spread  the  news  —  do  you  hear? 
Good-by.  You  have  seen  the  last  of  me." 

He  went  away  then.     She  moaned  to  herself: 


296  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"  I  shall  bear  a  child  — to  him!  God  grant  it 
may  be  a  boy!  " 

The  farmers  released  her  by  and  by  —  and  spread 
the  news,  which  was  natural.  They  raised  the 
country  with  lynching  intentions,  but  the  bird  had 
flown.  The  young  wife  shut  herself  up  in  her 
father's  house;  he  shut  himself  up  with  her,  and 
thenceforth  would  see  no  one.  His  pride  was 
broken,  and  his  heart;  so  he  wasted  away,  day  by 
day,  and  even  his  daughter  rejoiced  when  death  re 
lieved  him. 

Then  she  sold  the  estate  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   II. 

IN  1886  a  young  woman  was  living  in  a  modest 
house  near  a  secluded  New  England  village,  with 
no  company  but  a  little  boy  about  five  years  old. 
She  did  her  own  work,  she  discouraged  acquaint 
anceships,  and  had  none.  The  butcher,  the  baker, 
and  the  others  that  served  her  could  tell  the  villagers 
nothing  about  her  further  than  that  her  name  was 
Stillman,  and  that  she  called  the  child  Archy. 
Whence  she  came  they  had  not  been  able  to  find 
out,  but  they  said  she  talked  like  a  Southerner. 
The  child  had  no  playmates  and  no  comrade,  and 
no  teacher  but  the  mother.  She  taught  him  dili 
gently  and  intelligently,  and  was  satisfied  with  the 
results —  even  a  little  proud  of  them.  One  day 
Archy  said, 

14  Mamma,  am  I  different  from  other  children?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  not.  Why?  " 
'There  was  a  child  going  along  out  there  and 
asked  me  if  the  postman  had  been  by  and  I  said  yes, 
and  she  said  how  long  since  I  saw  him  and  I  said  I 
hadn't  seen  him  at  all,  and  she  said  how  did  I  know 
he'd  been  by,  then,  and  I  said  because  I  smelt  his 
track  on  the  sidewalk,  and  she  said  I  was  a  dum 

(297) 


298  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

fool  and  made  a  mouth  at  me.     What  did  she  do 
that  for?" 

The  young  woman  turned  white,  and  said  to  her 
self,  "It's  a  birthmark!  The  gift  of  the  blood 
hound  is  in  him."  She  snatched  the  boy  to  her 
breast  and  hugged  him  passionately,  saying,  "God 
has  appointed  the  way!  "  Her  eyes  were  burning 
with  a  fierce  light  and  her  breath  came  short  and 
quick  with  excitement.  She  said  to  herself:  "The 
puzzle  is  solved  now;  many  a  time  it  has  been  a 
mystery  to  me,  the  impossible  things  the  child  has 
done  in  the  dark,  but  it  is  all  clear  to  me  now." 
She  set  him  in  his  small  chair,  and  said, 
"  Wait  a  little  till  I  come,  dear;  then  we  will  talk 
about  the  matter." 

She  went  up  to  her  room  and  took  from  her 
dressing-table  several  small  articles  and  put  them 
out  of  sight:  a  nail- file  on  the  floor  under  the  bed; 
a  pair  of  nail-scissors  under  the  bureau ;  a  small 
ivory  paper-knife  under  the  wardrobe.  Then  she 
returned,  and  said: 

1 '  There  !  I  have  left  some  things  which  I  ought 
to  have  brought  down."  She  named  them,  and 
said,  "  Run  up  and  bring  them,  dear." 

The  child  hurried  away  on  his  errand  and  was  soon 
back  again  with  the  things. 

"  Did  you  have  any  difficulty,  dear?  " 
"  No,  mamma;   1  only  went  where  you  went." 
During  his  absence  she  had  stepped  to  the  book 
case,  taken  several  books  from  the   bottom  shelf, 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  299 

opened  each,  passed  her  hand  over  a  page,  noting  its 
number  in  her  memory,  then  restored  them  to  their 
places.  Now  she  said  : 

"  I  have  been  doing  something  while  you  have 
been  gone,  Archy.  Do  you  think  you  can  find  out 
what  it  was  ?  ' ' 

The  boy  went  to  the  bookcase  and  got  out  the 
books  that  had  been  touched,  and  opened  them  at 
the  pages  which  had  been  stroked. 

The  mother  took  him  in  her  lap,  and  said: 

"  I  will  answer  your  question  now,  dear.  I  have 
found  out  that  in  one  way  you  are  quite  different 
from  other  people.  You  can  see  in  the  dark,  you 
can  smell  what  other  people  cannot,  you  have  the 
talents  of  a  bloodhound.  They  are  good  and  valu 
able  things  to  have,  but  you  must  keep  the  matter  a 
secret.  If  people  found  it  out,  they  would  speak  of 
you  as  an  odd  child,  a  strange  child,  and  children 
would  be  disagreeable  to  you,  and  give  you  nick 
names.  In  this  world  one  must  be  like  everybody 
else  if  he  doesn't  want  to  provoke  scorn  or  envy  or 
jealousy.  It  is  a  great  and  fine  distinction  which 
has  been  born  to  you,  and  I  am  glad;  but  you  will 
keep  it  a  secret,  for  mamma's  sake,  won't  you?  " 

The  child  promised,  without  understanding. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  the  mother's  brain  was 
busy  with  excited  thinkings;  with  plans,  projects, 
schemes,  each  and  all  of  them  uncanny,  grim,  and 
dark.  Yet  they  lit  up  her  face ;  lit  it  with  a  fell 
light  of  their  own;  lit  it  with  vague  fires  of  hell. 


300  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

She  was  in  a  fever  of  unrest;  she  could  not  sit, 
stand,  read,  sew;  there  was  no  relief  for  her  but  in 
movement.  She  tested  her  boy's  gift  in  twenty 
ways,  and  kept  saying  to  herself  all  the  time,  with 
her  mind  in  the  past:  "He  broke  my  father's 
heart,  and  night  and  day  all  these  years  I  have  tried, 
and  all  in  vain,  to  think  out  a  way  to  break  his.  I 
have  found  it  now  —  I  have  found  it  now." 

When  night  fell,  the  demon  of  unrest  still  possessed 
her.  She  went  on  with  her  tests ;  with  a  candle  she 
traversed  the  house  from  garret  to  cellar,  hiding  pins, 
needles,  thimbles,  spools,  under  pillows,  under 
carpets,  in  cracks  in  the  walls,  under  the  coal  in  the 
bin;  then  sent  the  little  fellow  in  the  dark  to  find 
them;  which  he  did,  and  was  happy  and  proud  when 
she  praised  him  and  smothered  him  with  caresses. 

From  this  time  forward  life  took  on  a  new  com 
plexion  for  her.  She  said,  "  The  future  is  secure  — 
I  can  wait,  and  enjoy  the  waiting."  The  most  of 
her  lost  interests  revived.  She  took  up  music  again, 
and  languages,  drawing,  painting,  and  the  other  long- 
discarded  delights  of  her  maidenhood.  She  was 
happy  once  more,  and  felt  again  the  zest  of  life. 
As  the  years  drifted  by  she  watched  the  develop 
ment  of  her  boy,  and  was  contented  with  it.  Not 
altogether,  but  nearly  that.  The  soft  side  of  his 
heart  was  larger  than  the  other  side  of  it.  It  was 
his  only  defect,  in  her  eyes.  But  she  considered 
that  his  love  for  her  and  worship  of  her  made  up  for 
it.  He  was  a  good  hater  —  that  was  well;  but  it 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  301 

was  a  question  if  the  materials  of  his  hatreds  were  of 
as  tough  and  enduring  a  quality  as  those  of  his 
friendships  —  and  that  was  not  so  well. 

The  years  drifted  on.  Archy  was  become  a  hand 
some,  shapely,  athletic  youth,  courteous,  dignified, 
companionable,  pleasant  in  his  ways,  and  looking 
perhaps  a  trifle  older  than  he  was,  which  was  sixteen. 
One  evening  his  mother  said  she  had  something  of 
grave  importance  to  say  to  him,  adding  that  he  was 
old  enough  to  hear  it  now,  and  old  enough  and  pos 
sessed  of  character  enough  and  stability  enough  to 
carry  out  a  stern  plan  which  she  had  been  for  years 
contriving  and  maturing.  Then  she  told  him  her 
bitter  story,  in  all  its  naked  atrociousness.  For  a 
while  the  boy  was  paralyzed  ;  then  he  said  : 

"I  understand.  We  are  Southerners;  and  by 
our  custom  and  nature  there  is  but  one  atonement. 
I  will  search  him  out  and  kill  him." 

44  Kill  him?  No!  Death  is  release,  emancipa 
tion;  death  is  a  favor.  Do  I  owe  him  favors?  You 
must  not  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head." 

The  boy  was  lost  in  thought  awhile ;  then  he  said : 

44  You  are  all  the  world  to  me,  and  your  desire  is 
my  law  and  my  pleasure.  Tell  me  what  to  do  and 
I  will  do  it." 

The  mother's  eyes  beamed  with  satisfaction,  and 
she  said: 

44  You  will  go  and  find  him.  I  have  known  his 
hiding-place  for  eleven  years ;  it  cost  me  five  years 
and  more  of  inquiry,  and  much  money,  to  locate  it. 


302  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

He  is  a  quartz-miner  in  Colorado,  and  well-to-do. 
He  lives  in  Denver.  His  name  is  Jacob  Fuller. 
There  — it  is  the  first  time  I  have  spoken  it  since 
that  unforgettable  night.  Think !  That  name  could 
have  been  yours  if  I  had  not  saved  you  that  shame 
and  furnished  you  a  cleaner  one.  You  will  drive 
him  from  that  place ;  you  will  hunt  him  down  and 
drive  him  again;  and  yet  again,  and  again,  and 
again,  persistently,  relentlessly,  poisoning  his  life, 
filling  it  with  mysterious  terrors,  loading  it  with 
weariness  and  misery,  making  him  wish  for  death, 
and  that  he  had  a  suicide's  courage;  you  will  make 
of  him  another  wandering  Jew;  he  shall  know  no 
rest  any  more,  no  peace  of  mind,  no  placid  sleep; 
you  shall  shadow  him,  cling  to  him,  persecute  him, 
till  you  break  his  heart,  as  he  broke  my  father's  and 
mine." 

"I  will  obey,  mother." 

*'  I  believe  it,  my  child.  The  preparations  are  all 
made;  everything  is  ready.  Here  is  a  letter  of 
credit;  spend  freely,  there  is  no  lack  of  money. 
At  times  you  may  need  disguises.  I  have  provided 
them;  also  some  other  conveniences."  She  took 
from  the  drawer  of  the  typewriter  table  several 
squares  of  paper.  They  all  bore  these  typewritten 

words : 

$10,000  REWARD. 

It  is  believed  that  a  certain  man  who  is  wanted  in  an  Eastern  State 
is  sojourning  here.  In  1880,  in  the  night,  he  tied  his  young  wife  to  a 
tree  by  the  public  road,  cut  her  across  the  face  with  a  cowhide,  and 
made  bis  dogs  tear  her  clothes  from  her,  leaving  her  naked.  He  left 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  303 

her  there,  and  fled  the  country.     A  blood-relative  of  hers  has  searched 

for  him  for  seventeen  years.     Address ,   ,  Post-office. 

The  above  reward  will  be  paid  in  cash  to  the  person  who  will  furnish 
the  seeker,  in  a  personal  interview,  the  criminal's  address. 

"  When  you  have  found  him  and  acquainted  your 
self  with  his  scent,  you  will  go  in  the  night  and 
placard  one  of  these  upon  the  building  he  occupies, 
and  another  one  upon  the  post-office  or  in  some 
other  prominent  place.  It  will  be  the  talk  of  the 
region.  At  first  you  must  give  him  several  days  in 
which  to  force  a  sale  of  his  belongings  at  something 
approaching  their  value.  We  will  ruin  him  by  and 
by,  but  gradually ;  we  must  not  impoverish  him  at 
once,  for  that  could  bring  him  to  despair  and  injure 
his  health,  possibly  kill  him." 

She  took  three  or  four  more  typewritten  forms 
from  the  drawer  • —  duplicates  —  and  read  one : 

,  ,  18 

To  Jacob  Fuller : 

You  have days  in  which  to  settle  your  affairs.     You  will  not 

be  disturbed  during  that  limit,  which  will  expire  at M.,  on  the 

of You  must  then  MOVE  ON.     If  you  are  still  in  the 

place  after  the  named  hour,  I  will  placard  you  on  all  the  dead  walls, 
detailing  your  crime  once  more,  and  adding  the  date,  also  the  scene  of 
it,  with  all  names  concerned,  including  your  own.  Have  no  fear  of 
bodily  injury  —  it  will  in  no  circumstances  ever  be  inflicted  upon  you. 
You  brought  misery  upon  an  old  man,  and  ruined  his  life  and  broke  his 
heart.  What  he  suffered,  you  are  to  suffer. 

'You  will  add  no  signature.       He  must  receive 
this  before  he  learns  of  the  reward  placard  —  before 
he  rises  in  the  morning  —  lest  he  lose  his  head  and 
fly  the  place  penniless." 
"I  shall  not  forget." 


304  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"  You  will  need  to  use  these  forms  only  in  the  be 
ginning —  once  may  be  enough.  Afterward,  when 
you  are  ready  for  him  to  vanish  out  of  a  place,  see 
that  he  gets  a  copy  of  this  form,  which  merely  says: 

MOVE  ON.     You  have days. 

"  He  will  obey.     That  is  sure/' 


CHAPTER   III. 
R-XTRACTS  from  letters  to  the  mother: 

DENVER,  April  3,  1897. 

I  have  now  been  living  several  days  in  the  same  hotel  with  Jacob 
Fuller.  I  have  his  scent;  I  could  track  him  through  ten  divisions 
of  infantry  and  find  him.  I  have  often  been  near  him  and  heard  him 
talk.  He  owns  a  good  mine,  and  has  a  fair  income  from  it;  but  he  is 
not  rich.  He  learned  mining  in  a  good  way  —  by  working  at  it  for 
wages.  He  is  a  cheerful  creature,  and  his  forty-three  years  sit  lightly 
upon  him;  he  could  pass  for  a  younger  man — say  thirty-six  or  thirty- 
seven.  He  has  never  married  again  —  passes  himself  off  for  a  widower. 
He  stands  well,  is  liked,  is  popular,  and  has  many  friends.  Even  I  feel 
a  drawing  toward  him  —  the  paternal  blood  in  me  making  its  claim. 
How  blind  and  unreasoning  and  arbitrary  are  some  of  the  laws  of  nature 
— the  most  of  them,  in  fact!  My  task  is  become  hard  now  —  you 
realize  it?  you  comprehend,  and  make  allowances?  —  and  the  fire  of  it 
has  cooled,  more  than  I  like  to  confess  to  myself.  But  I  will  carry  it 
out.  Even  with  the  pleasure  paled,  the  duty  remains,  and  I  will 
not  spare  him. 

And  for  my  help,  a  sharp  resentment  rises  in  me  when  I  reflect  that 
he  who  committed  that  odious  crime  is  the  only  one  who  has  not 
suffered  by  it.  The  lesson  of  it  has  manifestly  reformed  his  character, 
and  in  the  change  he  is  happy.  He,  the  guilty  party,  is  absolved  from 
all  suffering;  you,  the  innocent,  are  borne  down  with  it.  But  be  com 
forted — he  shall  harvest  his  share. 

SILVER  GULCH,  May  19. 

I  placarded  Form  No.  I  at  midnight  of  April  3;  an  hour  later  I 
dipped  Form  No.  2  under  his  chamber  door,  notifying  him  to  leave 
Denver  at  or  before  1 1.50  the  night  of  the  I4th. 

(305) 


306  A  Doubie-Barreled  Detective  Story 

Some  late  bird  of  a  reporter  stole  one  of  my  placards,  then  hunted  the 
town  over  and  found  the  other  one,  and  stole  that.  In  this  manner  he 
accomplished  what  the  profession  call  a  "scoop" — that  is,  he  got 
a  valuable  item,  and  saw  to  it  that  no  other  paper  got  it.  And  so  his 
paper  —  the  principal  one  in  the  town  —  had  it  in  glaring  type  on  the 
editorial  page  in  the  morning,  followed  by  a  Vesuvian  opinion  of  our 
wretch  a  column  long,  which  wound  up  by  adding  a  thousand  dollars  to 
our  reward  on  the  paper's  account !  The  journals  out  here  know  how 
to  do  the  noble  thing  —  when  there's  business  in  it. 

At  breakfast  IjDccupied  my  usual  seat  —  selected  because  it  afforded 
a  view  of  papa  Fuller's  face,  and  was  near  enough  for  me  to  hear  the 
talk  that  went  on  at  his  table.  Seventy-five  or  a  hundred  people  were 
in  the  room,  and  all  discussing  that  item,  and  saying  they  hoped  the 
seeker  would  find  that  rascal  and  remove  the  pollution  of  his  presence 
from  the  town  —  with  a  rail,  or  a  bullet,  or  something. 

When  Fuller  came  in  he  had  the  Notice  to  Leave  —  folded  up  —  in  one 
hand,  and  the  newspaper  in  the  other;  and  it  gave  me  more  than  half 
a  pang  to  see  him.  His  cheerfulness  was  all  gone,  and  he  looked  old 
and  pinched  and  ashy.  And  then  —  only  think  of  the  things  he  had  to 
listen  to !  Mamma,  he  heard  his  own  unsuspecting  friends  describe  him 
with  epithets  and  characterizations  drawn  from  the  very  dictionaries  and 
phrase-books  of  Satan's  own  authorized  editions  down  below.  And 
more  than  that,  he  had  to  agree  with  the  verdicts  and  applaud  them. 
His  applause  tasted  bitter  in  his  mouth,  though;  he  could  not  disguise 
that  from  me;  and  it  was  observable  that  his  appetite  was  gone;  he 
only  nibbled;  he  couldn't  eat.  Finally  a  man  said : 

"It  is  quite  likely  that  that  relative  is  in  the  room  and  hearing  what 
this  town  thinks  of  that  unspeakable  scoundrel.  I  hope  so." 

Ah,  dear,  it  was  pitiful  the  way  Fuller  winced,  and  glanced  around 
scared !  He  couldn't  endure  any  more,  and  got  up  and  left. 

During  several  days  he  gave  out  that  he  had  bought  a  mine  in  Mexico, 
and  wanted  to  sell  out  and  go  down  there  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  give 
the  property  his  personal  attention.  He  played  his  cards  well;  said  he 
would  take  $40,000 — a  quarter  in  cash,  the  rest  in  safe  notes;  but  that 
as  he  greatly  needed  money  on  account  of  his  new  purchase,  he  would 
diminish  his  terms  for  cash  in  full.  He  sold  out  for  $30,000.  And 
then,  what  do  you  think  he  did?  He  asked  for  greenbacks,  and  took 
them,  saying  the  man  in  Mexico  was  a  New-Englander,  with  a  head 
full  of  crotchets,  and  preferred  greenbacks  to  gold  or  drafts.  People 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  307 

thought  it  queer,  since  a  draft  on  New  York  could  produce  greenbacks 
quite  conveniently.  There  was  talk  of  this  odd  thing,  but  only  for  a 
day;  that  is  as  long  as  any  topic  lasts  in  Denver. 

I  was  watching,  all  the  time.  As  soon  as  the  sale  was  completed  and 
the  money  paid  —  which  was  on  the  nth  —  I  began  to  stick  to  Fuller's 
track  without  dropping  it  for  a  moment.  That  night  —  no,  I2th,  for  it 
was  a  little  past  midnight  —  I  tracked  him  to  his  room,  which  was  four 
doors  from  mine  in  the  same  hall;  then  I  went  back  and  put  on  my 
muddy  day-laborer  disguise,  darkened  my  complexion,  and  sat  down 
in  my  room  in  the  gloom,  with  a  gripsack  handy,  with  a  change  in  it, 
and  my  door  ajar.  Yor  I  suspected  that  the  bird  would  take  wing  now. 
In  half  an  hour  an  old  woman  passed  by,  carrying  a  grip :  I  caught  the 
familiar  whiff,  and  followed  with  my  grip,  for  it  was  Fuller.  He  left 
the  hotel  by  a  side  entrance,  and  at  the  corner  he  turned  up  an  unfre 
quented  street  and  walked  three  blocks  in  a  light  rain  and  a  heavy  dark 
ness,  and  got  into  a  two-horse  hack,  which  of  course  was  waiting  for 
him  by  appointment.  I  took  a  seat  (uninvited)  on  the  trunk  platform 
behind,  and  we  drove  briskly  off.  We  drove  ten  miles,  and  the  hack 
stopped  at  a  way-station  and  was  discharged.  Fuller  got  out  and  took 
a  seat  on  a  barrow  under  the  awning,  as  far  as  he  could  get  from  the 
light;  I  went  inside,  and  watched  the  ticket-office.  Fuller  bought  no 
ticket;  I  bought  none.  Presently  the  train  came  along,  and  he  boarded 
a  car;  I  entered  the  same  car  at  the  other  end,  and  came  down  the  aisle 
and  took  the  seat  behind  him.  When  he  paid  the  conductor  and  named 
his  objective  point,  I  dropped  back  several  seats,  while  the  conductor 
was  changing  a  bill,  and  when  he  came  to  me  I  paid  to  the  same  place 
—  about  a  hundred  miles  westward. 

From  that  time  for  a  week  on  end  he  led  me  a  dance.  He  traveled 
here  and  there  and  yonder  —  always  on  a  general  westward  trend  — 
but  he  was  not  a  woman  after  the  first  day.  He  was  a  laborer,  like  my 
self,  and  wore  bushy  false  whiskers.  His  outfit  was  perfect,  and  he 
could  do  the  character  without  thinking  about  it,  for  he  had  served  the 
trade  for  wages.  His  nearest  friend  could  not  have  recognized  him. 
At  last  he  located  himself  here,  the  obscurest  little  mountain  camp  in 
Montana;  he  has  a  shanty,  and  goes  out  prospecting  daily;  is  gone  all 
day,  and  avoids  society.  I  am  living  at  a  miner's  boarding-house,  and 
it  is  an  awful  place :  the  bunks,  the  food,  the  dirt  —  everything. 

We  have  been  here  four  weeks,  and  in  that  time  I  have  seen  him  but  , 
once;  but  every  night  I  go  over  his  track  and  post  myself.     As  soon  as 


308  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

he  engaged  a  shanty  here  I  went  to  a  town  fifty  miles  away  and  tele 
graphed  that  Denver  hotel  to  keep  my  baggage  till  I  should  send  for  it. 
I  need  nothing  here  but  a  change  of  army  shirts,  and  I  brought  that 
with  me. 

SILVER  GULCH,  June  12. 

The  Denver  episode  has  never  found  its  way  here,  I  think.  I  know 
the  most  of  the  men  in  camp,  and  they  have  never  referred  to  it,  at  least 
in  my  hearing.  Fuller  doubtless  feels  quite  safe  in  these  conditions* 
He  has  located  a  claim,  two  miles  away,  in  an  out-of-the-way  place  in 
the  mountains;  it  promises  very  well,  and  he  is  working  it  diligently. 
Ah,  but  the  change  in  him !  He  never  smiles,  and  he  keeps  quite 
to  himself,  consorting  with  no  one  —  he  who  was  so  fond  of  company 
and  so  cheery  only  two  months  ago.  I  have  seen  him  passing  along 
several  times  recently  —  drooping,  forlorn,  the  spring  gone  from  his 
step,  a  pathetic  figure.  He  calls  himself  David  Wilson. 

I  can  trust  him  to  remain  here  until  we  disturb  him.  Since  you 
insist,  I  will  banish  him  again,  but  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  be  unhap- 
pier  than  he  already  is.  I  will  go  back  to  Denver  and  treat  myself  to  a 
little  season  of  comfort,  and  edible  food,  and  endurable  beds,  and  bodily 
decency;  then  I  will  fetch  my  things,  and  notify  poor  papa  Wilson 
to  move  on. 

DENVER,  June  19. 

They  miss  him  here.  They  all  hope  he  is  prospering  in  Mexico,  and 
they  do  not  say  it  just  with  their  mouths,  but  out  of  their  hearts.  You 
know  you  can  always  tell.  I  am  loitering  here  overlong,  I  confess  it. 
But  if  you  were  in  my  place  you  would  have  charity  for  me.  Yes, 
I  know  what  you  will  say,  and  you  are  right :  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
and  carried  your  scalding  memories  in  my  heart  — 

I  will  take  the  night  train  back  to-morrow. 

DENVER,  June  20. 

God  forgive  us,  mother,  we  are  hunting  the  wrong  man  !  I  have 
not  slept  any  all  night.  I  am  now  waiting,  at  dawn,  for  the  morning 
train  —  and  how  the  minutes  drag,  how  they  drag ! 

This  Jacob  Fuller  is  a  cousin  of  the  guilty  one.  How  stupid  we 
have  been  not  to  reflect  that  the  guilty  one  would  never  again  wear  his 
own  name  after  that  fiendish  deed !  The  Denver  Fuller  is  four  years 
younger  than  the  other  one;  he  came  here  a  young  widower  in  '79, 
aged  twenty-one —  a  year  before  you  were  married;  and  the  documents 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  309 

to  prove  it  are  innumerable.  Last  night  I  talked  with  familiar  friends 
of  his  who  have  known  him  from  the  day  of  his  arrival.  I  said  nothing, 
but  a  few  days  from  now  I  will  land  him  in  this  town  again,  with  the 
loss  upon  his  mine  made  good;  and  there  will  be  a  banquet,  and  a 
torch-light  procession,  and  there  will  not  be  any  expense  on  anybody 
but  me.  Do  you  call  this  "gush"  ?  I  am  only  a  boy,  as  you  well 
know;  it  is  my  privilege.  By  and  by  I  shall  not  be  a  boy  any  more. 

SILVER  GULCH,  July  3. 

Mother,  he  is  gone  !  Gone,  and  left  no  trace.  The  scent  was  cold 
when  I  came.  To-day  I  am  out  of  bed  for  the  first  time  since.  I  wish 
I  were  not  a  boy;  then  I  could  stand  shocks  better.  They  all  think  he 
went  west.  I  start  to-night,  in  a  wagon  —  two  or  three  hours  of  that, 
then  I  get  a  train.  I  don't  know  where  I'm  going,  but  I  must  go;  to 
try  to  keep  still  would  be  torture. 

Of  course  he  has  effaced  himself  with  a  new  name  and  a  disguise. 
This  means  that  /  may  have  to  search  the  whole  globe  to  find  him.  In 
deed  it  is  what  I  expect.  Do  you  see,  mother?  It  is  /that  am  the 
Wandering  Jew.  The  irony  of  it !  We  arranged  that  for  another. 

Think  of  the  difficulties !  And  there  would  be  none  if  I  only  could 
advertise  for  him.  But  if  there  is  any  way  to  do  it  that  would  not 
frighten  him,  I  have  not  been  able  to  think  it  out,  and  I  have  tried  till 
my  brains  are  addled.  "  If  the  gentleman  who  lately  bought  a  mine  in 
Mexico  and  sold  one  in  Denver  will  send  his  address  to"  (to  whom, 
mother!),  "  it  will  be  explained  to  him  that  it  was  all  a  mistake;  his 
forgiveness  will  be  asked,  and  full  reparation  made  for  a  loss  which  he 
sustained  in  a  certain  matter."  Do  you  see?  He  would  think  it  a 
trap.  Well,  any  one  would.  If  I  should  say,  "  It  is  now  known  that 
he  was  not  the  man  wanted,  but  another  man  —  a  man  who  once  bore 
the  same  name,  but  discarded  it  for  good  reasons ' '  —  would  that 
answer?  But  the  Denver  people  would  wake  up  then  and  say  "  Oho !  " 
and  they  would  remember  about  the  suspicious  greenbacks,  and  say, 
"  Why  did  he  run  away  if  he  wasn't  the  right  man?  —  it  is  too  thin." 
If  I  failed  to  find  him  he  would  be  ruined  there  —  there  where  there  is 
no  taint  upon  him  now.  You  have  a  better  head  than  mine.  Help  me. 

I  have  one  clew,  and  only  one.  I  know  his  handwriting.  If  he  puts 
his  new  false  name  upon  a  hotel  register  and  does  not  disguise  it  too 
much,  it  will  be  valuable  to  me  if  I  ever  run  across  it. 


310  A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  June  28,  1898. 

You  already  know  how  well  I  have  searched  the  States  from  Colorado 
to  the  Pacific,  and  how  nearly  I  came  to  getting  him  once.  Well,  I 
have  had  another  close  miss.  It  was  here,  yesterday.  I  struck  his 
trail,  hot,  on  the  street,  and  followed  it  on  a  run  to  a  cheap  hotel.  That 
was  a  costly  mistake;  a  dog  would  have  gone  the  other  way.  But 
I  am  only  part  dog,  and  can  get  very  humanly  stupid  when  excited. 
He  had  been  stopping  in  that  house  ten  days;  I  almost  know,  now, 
that  he  stops  long  nowhere,  the  past  six  or  eight  months,  but  is  rest 
less  and  has  to  keep  moving.  I  understand  that  feeling !  and  I  know 
what  it  is  to  feel  it.  He  still  uses  the  name  he  had  registered  when 
I  came  so  near  catching  him  nine  months  ago  —  "James  Walker"; 
doubtless  the  same  he  adopted  when  he  fled  from  Silver  Gulch.  An 
unpretending  man,  and  has  small  taste  for  fancy  names.  I  recognized 
the  hand  easily,  through  its  slight  disguise.  A  square  man,  and  not 
good  at  shams  and  pretenses. 

They  said  he  was  just  gone,  on  a  journey;  left  no  address;  didn't 
say  where  he  was  going;  looked  frightened  when  asked  to  leave  his 
address;  had  no  baggage  but  a  cheap  valise;  carried  it  off  on  foot  —  a 
"stingy  old  person,  and  not  much  loss  [to  the  house."  "  Old!"  I 
suppose  he  is,  now.  I  hardly  heard;  I  was  there  but  a  moment.  I 
rushed  along  his  trail,  and  it  led  me  to  a  wharf.  Mother,  the  smoke  of 
the  steamer  he  had  taken  was  just  fading  out  on  the  horizon !  I  should 
have  saved  half  an  hour  if  I  had  gone  in  the  right  direction  at  first.  I 
could  have  taken  a  fast  tug,  and  should  have  stood  a  chance  of  catching 
that  vessel.  She  is  bound  for  Melbourne. 

HOPE  CANYON,  CALIFORNIA,  October  3,  1900. 

You  have  a  right  to  complain.  "A  letter  a  year"  is  a  paucity;  I 
freely  acknowledge  it;  but  how  can  one  write  when  there  is  nothing  to 
write  about  but  failures?  No  one  can  keep  it  up;  it  breaks  the  heart. 

I  told  you  —  it  seems  ages  ago,  now  —  how  I  missed  him  at  Mel 
bourne,  and  then  chased  him  all  over  Australasia  for  months  on  end. 

Well,  then,  after  that  I  followed  him  to  India;  almost  saw  him  in 
Bombay;  traced  him  all  around  —  to  Baroda,  Rawal-Pindi,  Lucknow, 
Lahore,  Cawnpore,  Allahabad,  Calcutta,  Madras — -oh,  everywhere; 
week  after  week,  month  after  month,  through  the  dust  and  swelter  — 
always  approximately  on  his  track,  sometimes  close  upon  him,  yet  never 
catching  him.  And  down  to  Ceylon,  and  then  to —  Never  mind; 
by  and  by  I  will  write  it  all  out 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  311 

I  chased  him  home  to  California,  and  down  to  Mexico,  and  back 
again  to  California.  Since  then  I  have  been  hunting  him  about  the 
State  from  the  first  of  last  January  down  to  a  month  ago.  I  feel  almost 
sure  he  is  not  far  from  Hope  Canyon;  I  traced  him  to  a  point  thirty 
miles  from  here,  but  there  I  lost  the  trail;  some  one  gave  him  a  lift  in  a 
wagon,  I  suppose. 

I  am  taking  a  rest,  now  —  modified  by  searchings  for  the  lost  trail.  I 
was  tired  to  death,  mother,  and  low-spirited,  and  sometimes  coming  un 
comfortably  near  to  losing  hope;  but  the  miners  in  this  little  camp  are 
good  fellows,  and  I  am  used  to  their  sort  this  long  time  back;  and  their 
breezy  ways  freshen  a  person  up  and  make  him  forget  his  troubles.  I 
have  been  here  a  month.  I  am  cabining  with  a  young  fellow  named 
"Sammy"  Hillyer,  about  twenty-five,  the  only  son  of  his  mother  — 
like  me  —  and  loves  her  dearly,  and  writes  to  her  every  week  —  part  of 
which  is  like  me.  He  is  a  timid  body,  and  in  the  matter  of  intellect  — 
well,  he  cannot  be  depended  upon  to  set  a  river  on  fire;  but  no  matter,  he 
is  well  liked;  he  is  good  and  fine,  and  it  is  meat  and  bread  and  rest  and 
luxury  to  sit  and  talk  with  him  and  have  a  comradeship  again.  I  wish 
"James  Walker"  could  have  it.  He  had  friends;  he  liked  company. 
That  brings  up  that  picture  of  him,  the  time  that  I  saw  him  last.  The 
pathos  of  it !  It  comes  before  me  often  and  often.  At  that  very  time, 
poor  thing,  I  was  girding  up  my  conscience  to  make  him  move  on  again ! 
Hillyer's  heart  is  belter  than  mine,  better  than  anybody's  in  the  com 
munity,  I  suppose,  for  he  is  the  one  friend  of  the  black  sheep  of  the 
camp  —  Flint  Buckner  —  and  the  only  man  Flint  ever  talks  with  or 
allows  to  talk  with  him.  He  says  he  knows  Flint's  history,  and  that  it 
is  trouble  that  has  made  him  what  he  is,  and  so  one  ought  to  be  as  chari 
table  toward  him  as  one  can.  Now  none  but  a  pretty  large  heart  could 
find  space  to  accommodate  a  lodger  like  Flint  Buckner,  from  all  I  hear 
about  him  outside.  I  think  that  this  one  detail  will  give  you  a  better 
idea  of  Sammy's  character  than  any  labored-out  description  I  could 
furnish  you  of  him.  In  one  of  our  talks  he  said  something  about  like 
this:  "  Flint  is  a  kinsman  of  mine,  and  he  pours  out  all  his  troubles  to 
me  —  empties  his  breast  from  time  to  time,  or  I  reckon  it  would  burst. 
There  couldn't  be  any  unhappier  man,  Archy  Stillman;  his  life  has 
been  made  up  of  misery  of  mind  —  he  isn't  near  as  old  as  he  looks. 
He  has  lost  the  feel  of  reposefulness  and  peace  —  oh,  years  and  years 
ago!  He  doesn't  know  what  good  luck  is  —  never  has  had  any;  often 
says  he  wishes  he  was  in  the  other  hell,  he  is  so  tired  of  thi*  one," 
T 


CHAPTER    IV. 

No  real  gentleman  will  tell  the  naked  truth  in  the  presence  of  ladies 

IT  was  a  crisp  and  spicy  morning  in  early  October. 
The  lilacs  and  laburnums,  lit  with  the  glory-fires 
of  autumn,  hung  burning  and  flashing  in  the  upper 
air,  a  fairy  bridge  provided  by  kind  Nature  for  the 
wingless  wild  things  that  have  their  homes  in  the 
tree-tops  and  would  visit  together;  the  larch  and 
the  pomegranate  flung  their  purple  and  yellow 
flames  in  brilliant  broad  splashes  along  the  slanting 
sweep  of  the  woodland ;  the  sensuous  fragrance  of 
innumerable  deciduous  flowers  rose  upon  the  swoon 
ing  atmosphere ;  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary 
oesophagus*  slept  upon  motionless  wing;  every- 


*  [From  the  Springfield  Republican  April  12,  1902.] 
To  the  Editor  of  the  Republican  :  — 

One  of  your  citizens  has  asked  me  a  question  about  the  "oesopha 
gus,"  and  I  wish  to  answer  him  through  you.  This  in  the  hope  that  the 
answer  will  get  around,  and  save  me  some  penmanship,  for  I  have 
already  replied  to  the  same  question  more  than  several  times,  and  am 
not  getting  as  much  holiday  as  I  ought  to  have. 

I  published  a  short  story  lately,  and  it  was  in  that  that  I  put  the 
oesophagus,  I  will  say  privately  that  I  expected  it  to  bother  some  peo 
ple — in  fact,  that  was  the  intention,  —  but  the  harvest  has  been  larger 
than  I  was  calculating  upon.  The  oesophagus  has  gathered  in  the 

(313) 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story        }i} 

where  brooded  stillness,  serenity,  and  the  peace  of 
God. 

October  is  the  time- —  1900;   Hope  Canyon  is  the 
place,    a   silver-mining   camp    away    down    in    the 


guilty  and  the  innocent  alike,  whereas  I  was  only  fishing  for  the  inno 
cent  —  the  innocent  and  confiding.  I  knew  a  few  of  these  would  write 
and  ask  me  ;  that  would  give  me  but  little  trouble ;  but  I  was  not  ex 
pecting  that  the  wise  and  the  learned  would  call  upon  me  for  succor. 
However,  that  has  happened,  and  it  is  time  for  me  to  speak  up  and 
stop  the  inquiries  if  I  can,  for  letter-writing  is  not  restful  to  me,  and  I 
am  not  having  so  much  fun  out  of  this  thing  as  I  counted  on.  That 
you  may  understand  the  situation,  I  will  insert  a  couple  of  sample  in 
quiries.  The  first  is  from  a  public  instructor  in  the  Philippines  : 

SANTA  CRUZ,  Ilocos  Sur,  P.  I. 

February  13,  1902. 

My  Dear  Sir:  I  have  just  been  reading  the  first  part  of  your  latest 
story,  entitled  "  A  Double-barreled  Detective  Story,"  and  am  very  much 
delighted  with  it.  In  Part  IV,  page  264,  Harper's  Magazine  for  Janu 
ary,  occurs  this  passage:  "  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  *  oesophagus' 
slept,  upon  motionless  wing;  everywhere  brooded  stillness,  serenity,  and 
the  peace  of  God."  Now,  there  is  one  word  I  do  not  understand, 
namely,  "oesophagus."  My  only  work  of  reference  is  the  "Standard 
Dictionary,"  but  that  fails  to  explain  the  meaning.  If  you  can  spare 
the  time,  I  would  be  glad  to  have  the  meaning  cleared  up,  as  I  consider 
the  passage  a  very  touching  and  beautiful  one.  It  may  seem  foolish  to 
you,  but  consider  my  lack  of  means  away  out  in  the  northern  part  of 
Luzon.  Yours  very  truly. 

Do  you  notice?  Nothing  in  the  paragraph  disturbed  him  but  that 
one  word.  It  shows  that  that  paragraph  was  most  ably  constructed  fot 
the  deception  it  was  intended  to  put  upon  the  reader.  It  was  my  mien* 
tion  that  it  should  read  plausibly,  and  it  is  now  plain  that  it  does;  it  was 
my  intention  that  it  should  be  emotional  and  touching,  and  you  see, 
yourself,  that  it  fetched  this  public  instructor.  Alas,  if  I  had  but  left 
that  one  treacherous  word  out,  I  should  have  scored!  scored  every 
where;  and  the  paragraph  would  have  slidden  through  every  reader's 
sensibilities  like  oil,  and  left  not  a  suspicion  behind. 

The  other  sample  inquiry  is  from  a  professor  in  a  New  England  uni 
versity.  It  contains  one  naughty  word  (which  I  cannot  bear  to  sup- 


314  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

Esmeralda  region.  It  is  a  secluded  spot,  high  and 
remote ;  recent  as  to  discovery ;  thought  by  its  oc 
cupants  to  be  rich  in  metal  —  a  year  or  two's  pros 
pecting  will  decide  that  matter  one  way  or  the 


press),  but  he  is  not  in  the  theological  department,  so  it  is  no  harm: — • 
Dear  Mr.  Clemens:   "Far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  oesophagus 
slept  upon  motionless  wing." 

It  is  not  often  I  get  a  chance  to  read  much  periodical  literature,  but 
I  have  just  gone  through  at  this  belated  period,  with  much  gratification 
and  edification,  your  "  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story." 

But  what  in  hell  is  an  oesophagus?  I  keep  one  myself,  but  it  never 
sleeps  in  the  air  or  anywhere  else.  My  profession  is  to  deal  with  words, 
and  oesophagus  interested  me  the  moment  I  lighted  upon  it.  But  as  a 
companion  of  my  youth  used  to  say,  "  I'll  be  eternally,  co-eternally 
cussed  "  if  I  can  make  it  out.  Is  it  a  joke,  or  I  an  ignoramus? 

Between  you  and  me,  I  was  almost  ashamed  of  having  fooled  that 
man,  but  for  pride's  sake  I  was  not  going  to  say  so.  I  wrote  and  told 
him  it  was  a  joke  —  and  that  is  what  I  am  now  saying  to  my  Springfield 
inquirer.  And  I  told  him  to  carefully  read  the  whole  paragraph,  and 
he  would  find  not  a  vestige  of  sense  in  any  detail  of  it.  This  also  I 
commend  to  my  Springfield  inquirer. 

I  have  confessed.  I  am  sorry  —  partially.  I  will  not  do  so  any 
more  —  for  the  present.  Don't  ask  me  any  more  questions;  let  the 
oesophagus  have  a  rest  —  on  his  same  old  motionless  wing. 

MARK  TWAIN. 

New   York  City,  April  10,  igo2. 

(Editorial.) 

flSTThe  "Double-Barreled  Detective  Story,"  which  appeared  in  Har 
per's  Mag.  for  January  and  February  last,  is  the  most  elaborate  of  bur 
lesques  on  detective  fiction,  with  striking  melodramatic  passages  in  which 
it  is  difficult  to  detect  the  deception,  so  ably  is  it  done.  But  the  illusion 
ought  not  to  endure  even  the  first  incident  in  the  February  number. 
As  for  the  paragraph  which  has  so  admirably  illustrated  the  skill  of  Mr. 
Clemens's  ensemble  and  the  carelessness  of  readers,  here  it  is: — 

It  was  a  crisp  and  spicy  morning  in  early  October.  The  lilacs  and 
laburnums,  lit  with  the  glory-fires  of  autumn,  hung  burning  and  flashing 
in  the  upper  air,  a  fairy  bridge  provided  by  kind  nature  for  the  wingless 
things  that  have  their  home  in  the  tree-tops  and  would  visit  to* 


A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story  31  * 

other.  For  inhabitants,  the  camp  has  about  two 
hundred  miners,  one  white  woman  and  child, 
several  Chinese  washermen,  five  squaws,  and  a 
dozen  vagrant  buck  Indians  in  rabbit-skin  robes, 
battered  plug  hats,  and  tin-can  necklaces.  There  are 
no  mills  as  yet;  no  church,  no  newspaper.  The 
camp  has  existed  but  two  years ;  it  has  made  no  big 
strike ;  the  world  is  ignorant  of  its  name  and  place. 

On  both  sides  of  the  canyon  the  mountains  rise 
wall-like,  three  thousand  feet,  and  the  long  spiral  of 
straggling  huts  down  in  its  narrow  bottom  gets  a 
kiss  from  the  sun  only  once  a  day,  when  he  sails 
over  at  noon.  The  village  is  a  couple  of  miles  long; 

gether;  the  larch  and  the  pomegranate  flung  their  purple  and  yellow 
flames  in  brilliant  broad  splashes  along  the  slanting  sweep  of  the  wood 
land;  the  sensuous  fragrance  of  innumerable  deciduous  flowers  rose 
upon  the  swooning  atmosphere;  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  oeso 
phagus  slept  upon  motionless  wing;  everywhere  brooded  stillness, 
serenity,  and  the  peace  of  God. 

The  success  of  Mark  Twain's  joke  recalls  to  mind  his  story  of  the 
petrified  man  in  the  cavern,  whom  he  described  most  punctiliously,  first 
giving  a  picture  of  the  scene,  its  impressive  solitude,  and  all  that;  then 
going  on  to  describe  the  majesty  of  the  figure,  casually  mentioning 
that  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  rested  against  the  side  of  his  nose; 
then  after  further  description  observing  that  the  fingers  of  the  right 
hand  were  extended  in  a  radiating  fashion;  and,  recurring  to  the  digni 
fied  attitude  and  position  of  the  man,  incidentally  remarked  that  the 
thumb  of  the  left  hand  was  in  contact  with  the  little  finger  of  the  right 
—  and  so  on.  But  it  was  so  ingeniously  written  that  Mark,  relating  the 
history  years  later  in  an  article  which  appeared  in  that  excellent  maga 
zine  of  the  past,  the  Galaxy,  declared  that  no  one  ever  found  out  the 
joke,  and,  if  we  remember  aright,  that  that  astonishing  old  mockery 
was  actually  looked  for  in  the  region  where  he,  as  a  Nevada  newspaper 
Editor,  had  located  it.  It  is  certain  that  Mark  Twain's  jumping  frog 
has  a  good  many  more  "  pints  "  than  any  other  frog. 


316  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

the  cabins  stand  well  apart  from  each  other.  The 
tavern  is  the  only  "  frame  "  house  —  the  only  house, 
one  might  say.  It  occupies  a  central  position,  and 
is  the  evening  resort  of  the  population.  They  drink 
there,  and  play  seven-up  and  dominoes;  also  bil 
liards,  for  there  is  a  table,  crossed  all  over  with  torn 
places  repaired  with  court-plaster;  there  are  some 
cues,  but  no  leathers;  some  chipped  balls  which 
clatter  when  they  run,  and  do  not  slow  up  gradually, 
but  stop  suddenly  and  sit  down ;  there  is  a  part  of  a 
cube  of  chalk,  with  a  projecting  jag  of  flint  in  it; 
and  the  man  who  can  score  six  on  a  single  break 
can  set  up  the  drinks  at  the  bar's  expense. 

Flint  Buckner's  cabin  was  the  last  one  of  the  vil 
lage,  going  south ;  his  silver  claim  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  village,  northward,  and  a  little  beyond 
the  last  hut  in  that  direction.  He  was  a  sour 
creature,  unsociable,  and  had  no  companionships. 
People  who  had  tried  to  get  acquainted  with  him 
had  regretted  it  and  dropped  him.  His  history  was 
not  known.  Some  believed  that  Sammy  Hillyer 
knew  it;  others  said  no.  If  asked,  Hillyer  said  no, 
he  was  not  acquainted  with  it.  Flint  had  a  meek 
English  youth  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  with  him, 
whom  he  treated  roughly,  both  in  public  and  in 
private;  and  of  course  this  lad  was  applied  to  for 
information,  but  with  no  success.  Fetlock  Jones  — 
name  of  the  youth  —  said  that  Flint  picked  him  up 
cm  a  prospecting  tramp,  and  as  he  had  neither  home 
nor  friends  in  America,  he  had  found  it  wise  to  stay 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  317 

and  take  Buckner's  hard  usage  for  the  sake  of  the 
salary,  which  was  bacon  and  beans.  Further  than 
this  he  could  offer  no  testimony. 

Fetlock  had  been  in  this  slavery  for  a  month  now, 
and  under  his  meek  exterior  he  was  slowly  consum 
ing  to  a  cinder  with  the  insults  and  humiliations 
which  his  master  had  put  upon  him.  For  the  meek 
suffer  bitterly  from  these  hurts ;  more  bitterly,  per 
haps,  than  do  the  manlier  sort,  who  can  burst  out 
and  get  relief  with  words  or  blows  when  the  limit  of 
endurance  has  been  reached.  Good-hearted  people 
wanted  to  help  Fetlock  out  of  his  trouble,  and  tried 
to  get  him  to  leave  Buckner;  but  the  boy  showed 
fright  at  the  thought,  and  said  he  "  dasn't."  Pat 
Riley  urged  him,  and  said: 

"You  leave  the  damned  hunks  and  come  with 
me;  don't  you  be  afraid.  I'll  take  care  of  him" 

The  boy  thanked  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  but 
shuddered  and  said  he  "  dasn't  risk  it";  he  said 
Flint  would  catch  him  alone,  some  time,  in  the 
night,  and  then —  "  Oh,  it  makes  me  sick,  Mr. 
Riley,  to  think  of  it." 

Others  said,  <4Run  away  from  him;  we'll  stake 
you ;  skip  out  for  the  coast  some  night. ' '  But  all 
these  suggestions  failed ;  he  said  Flint  would  hunt 
him  down  and  fetch  him  back,  just  for  meanness. 

The  people  could  not  understand  this.  The  boy's 
miseries  went  steadily  on,  week  after  week.  It  is 
quite  likely  that  the  people  would  have  understood 
if  they  had  known  how  he  was  employing  his  spare 


318  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

time.  He  slept  in  an  out-cabin  near  Flint's;  and 
there,  nights,  he  nursed  his  bruises  and  his  humilia 
tions,  and  studied  and  studied  over  a  single  problem 

—  how  he  could  murder  Flint  Buckner  and  not  be 
found  out.     It  was  the    only  joy  he   had    in    life; 
these  hours  were  the  only  ones  in  the  twenty-four 
which   he   looked    forward    to    with    eagerness    and 
spent  in  happiness. 

He  thought  of  poison.  No — -that  would  not 
serve;  the  inquest  would  reveal  where  it  was  pro 
cured  and  who  had  procured  it.  He  thought  of  a 
shot  in  the  back  in  a  lonely  place  when  Flint  would 
be  homeward  bound  at  midnight  —  his  unvarying 
hour  for  the  trip.  No  —  somebody  might  be  near, 
and  catch  him.  He  thought  of  stabbing  him  in  his 
sleep.  No  —  he  might  strike  an  inefficient  blow, 
and  Flint  would  seize  him.  He  examined  a  hundred 
different  ways  —  none  of  them  would  answer ;  for  in 
even  the  very  obscurest  and  secretest  of  them  there 
was  always  the  fatal  defect  of  a  risk,  a  chance,  a 
possibility  that  he  might  be  found  out.  He  would 
have  none  of  that. 

But  he  was  patient,  endlessly  patient.  There  was 
no  hurry,  he  said  to  himself.  He  would  never  leave 
Flint  till  he  left  him  a  corpse ;  there  was  no  hurry 

—  he  would  find  the  way.     It  was  somewhere,  and 
he  would  endure  shame  and  pain  and  misery  until  he 
found  it.     Yes,   somewhere  there  was  a  way  which 
would  leave  not  a  trace,  not  even  the  faintest  clew  to 
the  murderer  —  there  was  no  hurry  — he  would  find 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  319 

that  way,  and  then  —  oh,  then,  it  would  just  be 
good  to  be  alive !  Meantime  he  would  diligently 
keep  up  his  reputation  for  meekness;  and  also,  as 
always  theretofore,  he  would  allow  no  one  to  hear 
him  say  a  resentful  or  offensive  thing  about  his 
oppressor. 

Two  days  before  the  before-mentioned  October 
morning  Flint  had  bought  some  things,  and  he  and 
Fetlock  had  brought  them  home  to  Flint's  cabin:  a 
fresh  box  of  candles,  which  they  put  in  the  corner; 
a  tin  can  of  blasting-powder,  which  they  placed  upon 
the  candle-box;  a  keg  of  blasting-powder,  which 
they  placed  under  Flint's  bunk;  a  huge  coil  of  fuse, 
which  they  hung  on  a  peg,  Fetlock  reasoned  that 
Flint's  mining  operations  had  outgrown  the  pick, 
arid  that  blasting  was  about  to  begin  now.  He  had 
seen  blasting  done,  and  he  had  a  notion  of  the  pro 
cess,  but  he  had  never  helped  in  it.  His  conjecture 
was  right  —  blasting-time  had  come.  In  the  morn 
ing  the  pair  carried  fuse,  drills,  and  the  powder-can 
to  the  shaft;  it  was  now  eight  feet  deep,  and  to 
get  into  it  and  out  of  it  a  short  ladder  was  used. 
They  descended,  and  by  command  Fetlock  held  the 
drill  —  without  any  instructions  as  to  the  right  way 
to  hold  it  —  and  Flint  proceeded  to  strike.  The 
sledge  came  down;  the  drill  sprang  out  of  Fetlock's 
hand,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course. 

1  You  mangy  son  of  a  nigger,  is  that  any  way  to 
hold  a  drill?  Pick  it  up!  Stand  it  up!  There  — 
hold  fast.  D you  !  /'//  teach  you  !  " 


320  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  drilling  was  finished. 

"Now,  then,  charge  it." 

The  boy  started  to  pour  in  the  powder. 

"Idiot!" 

A  heavy  bat  on  the  jaw  laid  the  lad  out. 

"Get  up!  You  can't  lie  sniveling  there.  Now, 
then,  stick  in  the  fuse  first.  Now  put  in  the 
powder.  Hold  on,  hold  on !  Are  you  going  to  fill 
the  hole  all  up  ?  Of  all  the  sap-headed  milksops  I 
—  Put  in  some  dirt !  Put  in  some  gravel !  Tamp 
it  down!  Hold  on,  hold  on!  Oh,  great  Scott! 
get  out  of  the  way!  "  He  snatched  the  iron  and 
tamped  the  charge  himself,  meantime  cursing  and 
blaspheming  like  a  fiend.  Then  he  fired  the  fuse, 
climbed  out  of  the  shaft,  and  ran  fifty  yards  away, 
Fetlock  following.  They  stood  waiting  a  few  min 
utes,  then  a  great  volume  of  smoke  and  rocks  burst 
high  into  the  air  with  a  thunderous  explosion ;  after 
a  little  there  was  a  shower  of  descending  stones; 
then  all  was  serene  again. 

"  I  wish  to  God  you'd  been  in  it!  "  remarked  the 
master. 

They  went  down  the  shaft,  cleaned  it  out,  drilled 
another  hole,  and  put  in  another  charge. 

"  Look  here  !  How  much  fuse  are  you  proposing 
to  waste?  Don't  you  know  how  to  time  a  fuse?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  You  don't !  Well,  if  you  don't  beat  anything  / 
ever  saw !  ' ' 

He  climbed  out  of  the  shaft  and  spoke  down : 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story          321 

"Well,  idiot,  are  you  going  to  be  all  day?  Cut 
the  fuse  and  light  it !  " 

The  trembling  creature  began, 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  — 

"  You  talk  back  to  me  ?     Cut  it  and  light  it !  " 

The  boy  cut  and  lit. 

"  Ger-reat  Scott !  a  one-minute  fuse  !  I  wish  you 
were  in  —  " 

In  his  rage  he  snatched  the  ladder  out  of  the  shaft 
and  ran.  The  boy  was  aghast. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  Help  !  Help  !  Oh,  save  me  !" 
he  implored.  "  Oh  what  can  I  do !  What  can 
I  do!" 

He  backed  against  the  wall  as  tightly  as  he  could  ; 
the  sputtering  fuse  frightened  the  voice  out  of  him  ; 
his  breath  stood  still ;  he  stood  gazing  and  impotent ; 
in  two  seconds,  three  seconds,  four  he  would  be  fly 
ing  toward  the  sky  torn  to  fragments.  Then  he  had 
an  inspiration.  He  sprang  at  the  fuse  ;  severed  the 
inch  of  it  that  was  left  above  ground,  and  was  saved. 

He  sank  down  limp  and  half  lifeless  with  fright, 
his  strength  gone  ;  but  he  muttered  with  a  deep  joy  : 

"  He  has  learnt  me !  I  knew  there  was  a  way,  if 
I  would  wait." 

After  a  matter  of  five  minutes  Buckner  stole  to  the 
shaft,  looking  worried  and  uneasy,  and  peered  down 
into  it.  He  took  in  the  situation;  he  saw  what  had 
happened.  He  lowered  the  ladder,  and  the  boy 
dragged  himself  weakly  up  it.  He  was  very  white. 
His  appearance  added  something  to  Buckner's  un- 


322  A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story 

comfortable  state,  and  he  said,  with  a  show  of  regret 
and  sympathy  which  sat  upon  him  awkwardly  from 
lack  of  practice : 

'*  It  was  an  accident,  you  know.  Don't  say  any 
thing  about  it  to  anybody;  I  was  excited,  and  didn't 
notice  what  I  was  doing.  You're  not  looking  well; 
you've  worked  enough  for  to-day;  go  down  to  my 
cabin  and  eat  what  you  want,  and  rest.  It's  just  an 
accident,  you  know,  on  account  of  my  being 
excited." 

"  It  scared  me,"  said  the  lad,  as  he  started  away; 
"  but  I  learnt  something,  so  I  don't  mind  it." 

"Damned  easy  to  please!"  muttered  Buckner, 
following  him  with  his  eye.  <4  I  wonder  if  he'll  tell? 
Mightn't  he?  ...  I  wish  it  //#</ killed  him." 

The  boy  took  no  advantage  of  his  holiday  in  the 
matter  of  resting;  he  employed  it  in  work,  eager 
and  feverish  and  happy  work.  A  thick  growth  of 
chaparral  extended  down  the  mountain-side  clear  to 
Flint's  cabin;  the  most  of  Fetlock's  labor  was  done 
in  the  dark  intricacies  of  that  stubborn  growth ;  the 
rest  of  it  was  done  in  his  own  shanty,  At  last  all 
was  complete,  and  he  said : 

"  If  he's  got  any  suspicions  that  I'm  going  to  tell 
on  him,  he  won't  keep  them  long,  to-morrow.  He 
will  see  that  I  am  the  same  milksop  as  I  always  was 
—  all  day  and  the  next.  And  the  day  after  to-mor 
row  night  there'll  be  an  end  of  him ;  nobody  will 
ever  guess  who  finished  him  up  nor  how  it  was  done. 
He  dropped  me  the  idea  his  own  self,  and  that's  odd. ' ' 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  next  day  came  and  went. 
It  is  now  almost  midnight,  and  in  five  min 
utes  the  new  morning  will  begin.  The  scene  is  in 
the  tavern  billiard- room.  Rough  men  in  rough 
clothing,  slouch  hats,  breeches  stuffed  into  boot- 
tops,  some  with  vests,  none  with  coats,  are  grouped 
about  the  boiler-iron  stove,  which  has  ruddy  cheeks 
and  is  distributing  a  grateful  warmth  ;  the  billiard 
balls  are  clacking ;  there  is  no  other  sound — that  is, 
within  ;  the  wind  is  fitfully  moaning  without.  The 
men  look  bored  ;  also  expectant.  A  hulking  broad- 
shouldered  miner,  of  middle  age,  with  grizzled  whis 
kers,  and  an  unfriendly  eye  set  in  an  unsociable  face, 
rises,  slips  a  coil  of  fuse  upon  his  arm,  gathers  up 
some  other  personal  properties,  and  departs  without 
word  or  greeting  to  anybody.  It  is  Flint  Buckner.  As 
the  door  closes  behind  him  a  buzz  of  talk  breaks  out. 

"  The  regularest  man  that  ever  was,"  said  Jake 
Parker,  the  blacksmith:  "you  can  tell  when  it's 
twelve  just  by  him  leaving,  without  looking  at  your 
Waterbury." 

"And  it's  the  only  virtue  he's  got,  as  fur  as  I 
know,"  said  Peter  Hawes,  miner. 


324  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"  He's  just  a  blight  on  this  society,"  said  Wells- 
Fargo's  man,  Ferguson.  "If  I  was  running  this 
shop  I'd  make  him  say  something,  some  time  or 
other,  or  vamos  the  ranch."  This  with  a  suggestive 
glance  at  the  barkeeper,  who  did  not  choose  to  see 
it,  since  the  man  under  discussion  was  a  good  cus 
tomer,  and  went  home  pretty  well  set  up,  every 
night,  with  refreshments  furnished  from  the  bar. 

"  Say,"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  miner,  "  does  any 
of  you  boys  ever  recollect  of  him  asking  you  to  take 
a  drink?" 

;'  Him  ?     Flint  Buckner  ?     Oh,  Laura  !  " 

This  sarcastic  rejoinder  came  in  a  spontaneous 
general  outburst  in  one  form  of  words  or  another 
from  the  crowd.  After  a  brief  silence,  Pat  Riley, 
miner,  said : 

"He's  the  15-puzzle,  that  cuss.  And  his  boy's 
another  one.  /can't  make  them  out." 

"  Nor  anybody  else,"  said  Ham  Sandwich;  "  and  I 
if  they  are  15 -puzzles,  how  are  you  going  to  rank  , 
up  that  other  one?     When  it  comes  to  A  i  right-  » 
down    solid   mysteriousness,   he   lays  over   both  of 
them.     Easy— -don't  he?" 

"You  bet!" 

Everybody    said    it.     Every    man    but  one.     He 
was    the    new-comer — Peterson.      He   ordered    the! 
drinks  all  round,   and  asked  who  No.  3   might  be.  i 
All  answered  at  once,  "  Archy  Stillman  !  " 

"  Is  he  a  mystery?  "   asked  Peterson. 

'*  Is  he  a  mystery?     Is  Archy  Stillman  a  mya- 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  325 

tery?  "  said  Wells-Fargo's  man,  Ferguson.  "  Why, 
the  fourth  dimension's  foolishness  to  him." 

For  Ferguson  was  learned. 

Peterson  wanted  to  hear  all  about  him ;  everybody 
wanted  to  tell  him;  everybody  began.  But  Billy 
Stevens,  the  barkeeper,  called  the  house  to  order, 
and  said  one  at  a  time  was  best.  He  distributed  the 
drinks,  and  appointed  Ferguson  to  lead.  Ferguson 
said : 

"  Well,  he's  a  boy.  And  that  is  just  about  all  we 
know  about  him.  You  can  pump  him  till  you  are 
tired;  it  ain't  any  use;  you  won't  get  anything. 
At  least  about  his  intentions,  or  line  of  business, 
or  where  he's  from,  and  such  things  as  that.  And 
as  for  getting  at  the  nature  and  get-up  of  his  main 
big  chief  mystery,  why,  he'll  just  change  the  subject, 
that's  all.  You  can  guess  till  you're  black  in  the  face 
—  it's  your  privilege  —  but  suppose  you  do,  where  do 
you  arrive  at  ?  Nowhere,  as  near  as  I  can  make  out. ' ' 

"  What  is  his  big  chief  one?  " 

"  Sight,  maybe.  Hearing,  maybe.  Instinct, 
maybe.  Magic,  maybe.  Take  your  choice  — 
grown-ups,  twenty-five;  children  and  servants,  half 
price.  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  he  can  do.  You  can 
start  here,  and  just  disappear;  you  can  go  and  hide 
wherever  you  want  to,  I  don't  care  where  it  is, 
nor  how  far — and  he'll  go  straight  and  put  his 
finger  on  you." 

'•You  don't  mean  it!" 

41  I  just  do,  though.  Weather's  nothing  to  him  — 
21 


326  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

elemental  conditions  is  nothing  to  him  —  he  don't 
even  take  notice  of  them." 

11  Oh,  come!     Dark?     Rain?      Snow?      Hey?" 

"It's  all  the  same  to  him.  He  don't  give  a 
damn." 

*'  Oh,  say  —  including/^,  per'aps?" 

"Fog!  he's  got  an  eye  't  can  plunk  through  it 
like  a  bullet." 

"  Now,  boys,  honor  bright,  what's  he  giving  me?" 

"It's  a  fact!"  they  all  shouted.  "Go  on, 
Wells-Fargo." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  can  leave  him  here,  chatting  with 
the  boys,  and  you  can  slip  out  and  go  to  any  cabin 
in  this  camp  and  open  a  book  — yes,  sir,  a  dozen  of 
them  —  and  take  the  page  in  your  memory,  and 
he'll  start  out  and  go  straight  to  that  cabin  and  open 
every  one  of  them  books  at  the  right  page,  and  call 
it  off,  and  never  make  a  mistake." 

"  He  must  be  the  devil !" 

"More  than  one  has  thought  it.  Now  I'll  tell 
you  a  perfectly  wonderful  thing  that  he  done.  The 
other  night  he  —  " 

There  was  a  sudden  great  murmur  of  sounds  out 
side,  the  door  flew  open,  and  an  excited  crowd  burst 
in,  with  the  camp's  one  white  woman  in  the  lead 
and  crying: 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  she's  lost  and  gone  !  For 
the  love  of  God  help  me  to  find  Archy  Stillman; 
we've  hunted  everywhere!  " 

Said  the  barkeeper: 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  327 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  Mrs.  Hogan,  and  don't 
worry.  He  asked  for  a  bed  three  hours  ago,  tuck 
ered  out  tramping  the  trails  the  way  he's  always  do 
ing,  and  went  upstairs.  Ham  Sandwich,  run  up 
and  roust  him  out;  he's  in  No.  14." 

The  youth  was  soon  downstairs  and  ready.  He 
asked  Mrs.  Hogan  for  particulars. 

4 *  Bless  you,  dear,  there  ain't  any;  I  wish  there 
was.  I  put  her  to  sleep  at  seven  in  the  evening, 
and  when  I  went  in  there  an  hour  ago  to  go  to  bed 
myself,  she  was  gone.  I  rushed  for  your  cabin, 
dear,  and  you  wasn't  there,  and  I've  hunted  for  you 
ever  since,  at  every  cabin  down  the  gulch,  and  now 
I've  come  up  again,  and  I'm  that  distracted  and 
scared  and  heart-broke;  but,  thanks  to  God,  I've 
found  you  at  last,  dear  heart,  and  you'll  find  my 
child.  Come  on!  come  quick!  " 

*'  Move  right  along;  I'm  with  you,  madam.  Go 
to  your  cabin  first." 

The  whole  company  streamed  out  to  join  the 
hunt.  All  the  southern  half  of  the  village  was  up, 
a  hundred  men  strong,  and  waiting  outside,  a  vague 
dark  mass  sprinkled  with  twinkling  lanterns.  The 
mass  fell  into  columns  by  threes  and  fours  to  accom 
modate  itself  to  the  narrow  road,  and  strode  briskly 
along  southward,  in  the  wake  of  the  leaders.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  Hogan  cabin  was  reached. 

"  There's  the  bunk,"  said  Mrs.  Hogan;    "  there's 
where    she   was;     it's    where    I    laid    her   at    seven 
o'clock;   but  where  she  is  now,  God  only  knows." 
u 


328  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"  Hand  me  a  lantern,"  said  Archy.  He  set  it 
on  the  hard  earth  floor  and  knelt  by  it,  pretending 
to  examine  the  ground  closely.  "  Here's  her 
track,"  he  said,  touching  the  ground  here  and  there 
and  yonder  with  his  finger.  "  Do  you  see?  " 

Several  of  the  company  dropped  upon  their  knees 
and  did  their  best  to  see.  One  or  two  thought  they 
discerned  something  like  a  track;  the  others  shook 
their  heads  and  confessed  that  the  smooth  hard 
surface  had  no  marks  upon  it  which  their  eyes  were 
sharp  enough  to  discover.  One  said,  "  Maybe  a 
child's  foot  could  make  a  mark  on  it,  but  7  don't 
see  how." 

Young  Stillman  stepped  outside,  held  the  light  to 
the  ground,  turned  leftward,  and  moved  three  steps, 
closely  examining;  then  said,  "I've  got  the  direc 
tion —  come  along;  take  the  lantern,  somebody." 

He  strode  off  swiftly  southward,  the  files  follow 
ing,  swaying  and  bending  in  and  out  with  the  deep 
curves  of  the  gorge.  Thus  a  mile,  and  the  mouth 
of  the  gorge  was  reached ;  before  them  stretched 
the  sage-brush  plain,  dim,  vast,  and  vague.  Still 
man  called  a  halt,  saying,  4<  We  mustn't  start  wrong, 
now;  we  must  take  the  direction  again." 

He  took  a  lantern  and  examined  the  ground  for  a 
matter  of  twenty  yards ;  then  said,  "  Come  on ;  it's  all 
right,"  and  gave  up  the  lantern.  In  and  out  among 
the  sage-bushes  he  marched,  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  bear 
ing  gradually  to  the  right ;  then  took  a  new  direction 
and  made  another  great  semicircle;  then  changed 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  329 

again  and  moved  due  west  nearly  half  a  mile  —  and 
stopped. 

"  She  gave  it  up,  here,  poor  little  chap.  Hold  the 
lantern.  You  can  see  where  she  sat." 

But  this  was  in  a  slick  alkali  flat  which  was  sur 
faced  like  steel,  and  no  person  in  the  party  was 
quite  hardy  enough  to  claim  an  eyesight  that  could 
detect  the  track  of  a  cushion  on  a  veneer  like  that. 
The  bereaved  mother  fell  upon  her  knees  and  kissed 
the  spot,  lamenting. 

"  But  where  is  she,  then?  "  some  one  said.  "  She 
didn't  stay  here.  We  can  see  tliat  much,  anyway." 

Stillman  moved  about  in  a  circle  around  the  place, 
with  the  lantern,  pretending  to  hunt  for  tracks. 

"Well!  "  he  said  presently,  in  an  annoyed  tone, 
"I  don't  understand  it."  He  examined  again. 
"No  use.  She  was  here  —  that's  certain;  she 
never  walked  away  from  here  —  and  that's  certain. 
It's  a  puzzle;  I  can't  make  it  out." 

The  mother  lost  heart  then. 

"Oh,  my  God!  oh,  blessed  Virgin!  some  flying 
beast  has  got  her.  I'll  never  see  her  again !  " 

"  Ah,  don't  give  up,"  said  Archy.  "  We'll  find 
her  —  don't  give  up." 

"  God  bless  you  for  the  words,  Archy  Stillman !  " 
and  she  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it  fervently. 

Peterson,  the  new-comer,  whispered  satirically  in 
Ferguson's  ear: 

"Wonderful  performance  to  find  this  place, 
wasn't  it?  Hardly  worth  while  to  come  so  far, 


330  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

though ;   any  other  supposititious  place  would  have 
answered  just  as  well  —  hey?  " 

Ferguson  was  not  pleased  with  the  innuendo.  He 
said,  with  some  warmth: 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  the  child  hasn't 
been  here  ?  I  tell  you  the  child  has  been  here ! 
Now  if  you  want  to  get  yourself  into  as  tidy  a 
little  fuss  as — " 

14  All  right!  "  sang  out  Stillman.  '*  Come,  every 
body,  and  look  at  this !  It  was  right  under  our 
noses  all  the  time,  and  we  didn't  see  it." 

There  was  a  general  plunge  for  the  ground  at  the 
place  where  the  child  was  alleged  to  have  rested, 
and  many  eyes  tried  hard  and  hopefully  to  see  the 
thing  that  Archy's  finger  was  resting  upon.  There 
was  a  pause,  then  a  several-barreled  sigh  of  disap 
pointment.  Pat  Riley  and  Ham  Sandwich  said,  in 
the  one  breath : 

"  What  is  it,  Archy?     There's  nothing  here." 

44  Nothing?  Do  you  call  tJiat  nothing?  "  and  he 
swiftly  traced  upon  the  ground  a  form  with  his 
finger.  'There  —  don't  you  recognize  it  now? 
It's  Injun  Billy's  track.  He's  got  the  child." 

"  God  be  praised  !  "   from  the  mother. 
4  Take  away  the  lantern.     I've  got  the  direction. 
Follow!  " 

He  started  on  a  run,  racing  in  and  out  among  the 
sage-bushes  a  matter  of  three  hundred  yards,  and 
disappeared  over  a  sand-wave ;  the  others  struggled 
after  him,  caught  him  up,  and  found  him  waiting. 


A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story  331 

Ten  steps  away  was  a  little  wickieup,  a  dim  and 
formless  shelter  of  rags  and  old  horse-blankets,  a 
dull  light  showing  through  its  chinks. 

"You  lead,  Mrs.  Hogan,"  said  the  lad.  "It's 
your  privilege  to  be  first." 

All  followed  the  sprint  she  made  for  the  wickieup, 
and  saw,  with  her,  the  picture  its  interior  afforded. 
Injun  Billy  was  sitting  on  the  ground ;  the  child  was 
asleep  beside  him.  The  mother  hugged  it  with  a 
wild  embrace,  which  included  Archy  Stillman,  the 
grateful  tears  running  down  her  face,  and  in  a 
choked  and  broken  voice  she  poured  out  a  golden 
stream  of  that  wealth  of  worshiping  endearments 
which  has  its  home  in  full  richness  nowhere  but  in 
the  Irish  heart. 

"  I  find  her  bymeby  it  is  ten  o'clock,"  Billy  ex 
plained.  "  She  'sleep  out  yonder,  ve'y  tired  —  face 
wet,  been  cryin',  'spose;  fetch  her  home,  feed  her, 
she  heap  much  hungry  —  go  'sleep  'gin." 

In  her  limitless  gratitude  the  happy  mother  waived 
rank  and  hugged  him  too,  calling  him  "  the  angel  of 
God  in  disguise."  And  he  probably  was  in  disguise 
if  he  was  that  kind  of  an  official.  He  was  dressed 
for  the  character. 

At  half-past  one  in  the  morning  the  procession 
burst  into  the  village  singing,  "  When  Johnny  Comes 
Marching  Home,"  waving  its  lanterns,  and  swal 
lowing  the  drinks  that  were  brought  out  all  along  its 
course.  It  concentrated  at  the  tavern,  and  made  a 
night  of  what  was  left  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  next  afternoon  the  village  was  electrified  with 
an  immense  sensation.     A  grave  and  dignified 
foreigner  of  distinguished  bearing  and  appearance  had 
arrived  at  the  tavern,   and  entered   this   formidable 
name  upon  the  register : 

SHERLOCK  HOLMES. 

The  news  buzzed  from  cabin  to  cabin,  from  claim 
to  claim;  tools  were  dropped,  and  the  town  swarmed 
toward  the  centre  of  interest.  A  man  passing  out 
at  the  northern  end  of  the  village  shouted  it  to  Pat 
Riley,  whose  claim  was  the  next  one  to  Flint  Buck- 
ner's.  At  that  time  Fetlock  Jones  seemed  to  turn 
sick.  He  muttered  to  himself: 

1 '  Uncle  Sherlock  !  The  mean  luck  of  it !  —  that 
he  should  come  just  when  .  .  .  ."  He  dropped 
into  a  reverie,  and  presently  said  to  himself:  "  But 
what's  the  use  of  being  afraid  of  him  ?  Anybody 
that  knows  him  the  way  I  do  knows  he  can't 
detect  a  crime  except  where  he  plans  it  all  out 
beforehand  and  arranges  the  clews  and  hires 
some  fellow  to  commit  it  according  to  instructions. 
.  .  .  Now  there  ain't  going  to  be  any  clews  this 

(332) 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  333 

time  —  so,  what  show  has  he  got?  None  at  all. 
No,  sir;  everything's  ready.  If  I  was  to  risk  put 
ting  it  off —  .  .  No,  I  won't  run  any  risk  like  that. 
Flint  Buckner  goes  out  of  this  world  to-night,  for 
sure."  Then  another  trouble  presented  itself. 
"  Uncle  Sherlock  '11  be  wanting  to  talk  home  matters 
with  me  this  evening,  and  how  am  I  going  to  get  rid 
of  him?  for  I've,  got  to  be  at  my  cabin  a  minute  or 
two  about  eight  o'clock."  This  was  an  awkward 
matter,  and  cost  him  much  thought.  But  he  found 
a  way  to  beat  the  difficulty.  "  We'll  go  for  a  walk, 
and  I'll  leave  him  in  the  road  a  minute,  so  that  he 
won't  see  what  it  is  I  do:  the  best  way  to  throw  a 
detective  off  the  track,  anyway,  is  to  have  him  along 
when  you  are  preparing  the  thing.  Yes,  that's  the 
safest  —  I'll  take  him  with  me." 

Meantime  the  road  in  front  of  the  tavern  was 
blocked  with  villagers  waiting  and  hoping  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  great  man.  But  he  kept  his  room, 
and  did  not  appear.  None  but  Ferguson,  Jake 
Parker  the  blacksmith,  and  Ham  Sandwich  had  any 
luck.  These  enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  great 
scientific  detective  hired  the  tavern's  detained-bag- 
gage  lockup,  which  looked  into  the  detective's  room 
across  a  little  alleyway  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide,  am 
bushed  themselves  in  it,  and  cut  some  peep-holes  in 
the  window-blind.  Mr.  Holmes's  blinds  were  down; 
but  by  and  by  he  raised  them.  It  gave  the  spies  a 
hair-lifting  but  pleasurable  thrill  to  find  themselves 
face  to  face  with  the  Extraordinary  Man  who  had 


334  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

filled  the  world  with  the  fame  of  his  moie  than 
human  ingenuities.  There  he  sat — not  a  myth,  not 
a  shadow,  but  real,  alive,  compact  of  substance,  and 
almost  within  touching  distance  with  the  hand. 

"  Look  at  that  head  !  "  said  Ferguson,  in  an  awed 
voice.  '*  By  gracious  !  that' s  a  head  !  " 

"You  bet!"  said  the  blacksmith,  with  deep 
reverence.  "Look  at  his  nose!  look  at  his  eyes! 
Intellect?  Just  a  battery  of  it !  " 

"And  that  paleness,"  said  Ham  Sandwich. 
41  Comes  from  thought  —  that's  what  it  comes  from. 
Hell!  duffers  like  us  don't  know  what  real  thought 
f>." 

"No  more  we  don't,"  said  Ferguson.  "What 
we  take  for  thinking  is  just  blubber-and-slush." 

"  Right  you  are,  Wells-Fargo.  And  look  at  that 
frown  —  that's  deep  thinking  —  away  down,  down, 
forty  fathom  into  the  bowels  of  things.  He's  on 
the  track  of  something." 

"Weil,  he  is,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  Say  — 
look  at  that  awful  gravity  —  look  at  that  pallid  sol- 
emnness  —  there  ain't  any  corpse  can  lay  over  it," 

"No,  sir,  not  for  dollars!  And  it's  his'n  by 
hereditary  rights,  too;  he's  been  dead  four  times 
a' ready,  and  there's  history  for  it.  Three  times 
natural,  once  by  accident.  I've  heard  say  he  smells 
damp  and  cold,  like  a  grave.  And  he —  " 

"'Sh!  Watch  him!  There  — he's  got  his 
thumb  on  the  bump  on  the  near  corner  of  his  fore 
head,  and  his  forefinger  on  the  off  one.  His  think- 


A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story  335 

works  is  just  ^-grinding  now,  you  bet  your  other 
shirt." 

"That's  so.  And  now  he's  gazing  up  toward 
heaven  and  stroking  his  mustache  slow,  and  —  " 

"  Now  he  has  rose  up  standing,  and  is  putting  his 
clews  together  on  his  left  fingers  with  his  right 
finger.  See?  he  touches  the  forefinger  —  now  mid 
dle  finger  —  now  ring-finger — " 

"Stuck!" 

"  Look  at  him  scowl!  He  can't  seem  to  make 
out  that  clew.  So  he —  " 

**  See  him  smile  !  —  like  a  tiger  —  and  tally  off  the 
other  fingers  like  nothing!  He's  got  it,  boys;  he's 
got  it  sure  !  " 

••Well,  I  should  say!  I'd  hate  to  be  in  that 
man's  place  that  he's  after." 

Mr.  Holmes  drew  a  table  to  the  window,  sat  down 
with  his  back  to  the  spies,  and  proceeded  to  write. 
The  spies  withdrew  their  eyes  from  the  peep-holes, 
lit  their  pipes,  and  settled  themselves  for  a  comfort 
able  smoke  and  talk.  Ferguson  said,  with  conviction : 

**  Boys,  it's  no  use  talking,  he's  a  wonder!  He's 
got  the  signs  of  it  all  over  him." 

•*You  hain't  ever  said  a  truer  word  than  that, 
Wells-Fargo,"  said  Jake  Parker.  "  Say,  wouldn't 
it  'a*  been  nuts  if  he'd  a-been  here  last  night?  " 

•*  Oh,  by  George,  but  wouldn't  it!  "  said  Fergu 
son.  **  Then  we'd  have  seen  scientific  work.  Intel 
lect —  just  pure  intellect  —  away  up  on  the  upper 
levels,  dontchuknow.  Archy  is  all  right,  and  it  don't 


336  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

become  anybody  to  belittle  him,  I  can  tell  you. 
But  his  gift  is  only  just  eyesight,  sharp  as  an 
owl's,  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out  just  a  grand 
natural  animal  talent,  no  more,  no  less,  and  prime 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  no  intellect  in  it,  and  for  awful- 
ness  and  rnarvelousness  no  more  to  be  compared  to 
what  this  man  does  than  —  than —  Why,  let  me 
tell  you  what  he' d  have  done.  He'd  have  stepped 
over  to  Hogan's  and  glanced — just  glanced,  that's 
all  —  at  the  premises,  and  that's  enough.  See 
everything?  Yes,  sir,  to  the  last  little  detail;  and 
he'd  know  more  about  that  place  than  the  Hogans 
would  know  in  seven  years.  Next,  he  would  sit 
down  on  the  bunk,  just  as  ca'm,  and  say  to  Mrs. 
Hogan —  Say,  Ham,  consider  that  you  are  Mrs. 
Hogan.  I'll  ask  the  questions;  you  answer  them." 
"All  right;  go  on." 

*  Madam,  if  you  please  —  attention  —  do  not  let 
your  mind  wander.     Now,  then  —  sex  of  the  child  ?  ' 

*  Female,  your  Honor.' 

*  Um  —  female.     Very  good,  very  good.     Age?  ' 
4  Turned  six,  your  Honor.' 

*  Um  —  young,  weak  —  two    miles.      Weariness 
will  overtake  it  then.      It  will  sink  down  and  sleep. 
We  shall  find  it  two  miles  away,  or  less.     Teeth?  ' 

1  Five,  your  Honor,  and  one  a-coming/ 

*  Very    good,    very    good,    very  good,    indeed. 
*  You  see,  boys,  he  knows  a  clew  when  he  sees  it, 
when  it  wouldn't    mean  a  dern    thing   to    anybody 
else.     '  Stockings,  madam?     Shoes?' 


A  Double -Barreled  Detective  Story  337 

"  4  Yes,  your  Honor  —  both.' 

*  Yarn,  perhaps?     Morocco?' 
14  4  Yarn,  your  Honor.     And  kip.' 

4  Um  —  kip.  This  complicates  the  matter.  How 
ever,  let  it  go  —  we  shall  manage.  Religion?  ' 

4  Catholic,  your  Honor.' 

4  Very  good.  Snip  me  a  bit  from  the  bed 
blanket,  please.  Ah,  thanks.  Part  wool  —  foreign 
make.  Very  well.  A  snip  from  some  garment  of 
the  child's,  please.  Thanks.  Cotton.  Shows 
wear.  An  excellent  clew,  excellent.  Pass  me  a 
pellet  of  the  floor  dirt,  if  you'll  be  so  kind.  Thanks, 
many  thanks.  Ah,  admirable,  admirable !  Now 
we  know  where  we  are,  I  think.'  You  see,  boys, 
he's  got  all  the  clews  he  wants  now;  he  don't  need 
anything  more.  Now,  then,  what  does  this  Ex 
traordinary  Man  do?  He  lays  those  snips  and  that 
dirt  out  on  the  table  and  leans  over  them  on  his 
elbows,  and  puts  them  together  side  by  side  and 
studies  them  —  mumbles  to  himself,  4  Female  ' ; 
changes  them  around  —  mumbles,  4  Six  years  old  ' ; 
changes  them  this  way  and  that  —  again  mumbles: 
4  Five  teeth  —  one  a-coming  —  Catholic  —  yarn  — 
cotton  —  kip  —  damn  that  kip. '  Then  he  straightens 
up  and  gazes  toward  heaven,  and  plows  his  hands 
through  his  hair  —  plows  and  plows,  muttering, 
4  Damn  that  kip  !  '  Then  he  stands  up  and  frowns, 
and  begins  to  tally  off  his  clews  on  his  fingers  —  and 
gets  stuck  at  the  ring-finger.  But  only  just  a  min 
ute —  then  his  face  glares  all  up  in  a  smile  like  a 


338  A  Double-1  ^elective  Story 

house  afire,  and  he  s  jhtens  up  stately  and 
majestic,  and  says  to  th<  owd,  *  Take  a  lantern,  a 
couple  of  you,  and  go  -rn  to  Injun  Billy's  and 
fetch  the  child  —  the  rest  you  go  'long  home  to 
bed;  good-night,  madam;  good-night,  gents/  And 
he  bows  like  the  Matterhon  ,  and  pulls  out  for  the 
tavern.  That's  his  style,  and  the  Only  —  scientific, 
intellectual — all  over  in  fifteen  minutes  —  no  pok 
ing  around  all  over  the  sage-brush  range  an  hour 
and  a  half  in  a  mass-meeting  crowd  for  him.  boys  — 
you  hear  me  /  ' ' 

"  By  Jackson,  it's  grand  !  "  said  Ham  Sandwich. 
"  Wells-Fargo,  you've  got  him  down  to  a  dot. 
He  ain't  painted  up  any  exacter  to  the  life  in  the 
books.  By  George,  I  can  just  see  him  —  can't  you, 
boys?" 

*  You  bet  you!     It's  just  a   photograft,    that's 
what  it  is." 

Ferguson  was  profoundly  pleased  with  his  success, 
and  grateful.  He  sat  silently  enjoying  his  happiness 
a  little  while,  then  he  murmured,  with  a  deep  awe  in 
his  voice, 

"  I  wonder  if  God  made  him?  " 

There  was  no  response  for  a  moment;  then  Ham 
Sandwich  said,  reverently, 

"  Not  all  at  one  time,  I  reckon." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

AT  eight  o'clock  that  evening  two  persons  were 
groping  their  way  past  Flint  Buckner's  cabin 
in  the  frosty  gloom.  They  were  Sherlock  Holmes 
and  his  nephew. 

"Stop  here  in  the  road  a  moment,  uncle,"  said 
Fetlock,  "  while  I  run  to  my  cabin;  I  won't  be  gone 
a  minute." 

He  asked  for  something — the  uncle  furnished  it 
—  then  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  but  soon  re 
turned,  and  the  talking-walk  was  resumed.  By  nine 
o'clock  they  had  wandered  back  to  the  tavern. 
They  worked  their  way  through  the  billiard-room, 
where  a  crowd  had  gathered  in  the  hope  of  getting 
a  glimpse  of  the  Extraordinary  Man.  A  royal  cheer 
was  raised.  Mr.  Holmes  acknowledged  the  compli 
ment  with  a  series  of  courtly  bows,  and  as  he  was 
passing  out  his  nephew  said  to  the  assemblage, 

"  Uncle  Sherlock's  got  some  work  to  do,  gentle* 
men,  that  '11  keep  him  till  twelve  or  one;  but  he'll  be 
down  again  then,  or  earlier  if  he  can,  and  hopes 
some  of  you'll  be  left  to  take  a  drink  with  him." 

"By  George,  he's  just  a  duke,  boys!  Three 
cheers  for  Sherlock  Holmes,  the  greatest  man  that 

(880) 


340  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

ever    lived!"     shouted    Ferguson.        "Hip,    hipi 
hip—" 

'  €  Hurrah !  hurrah !  hurrah !     Tiger !  ' ' 

The  uproar  shook  the  building,  so  hearty  was  the 
feeling  the  boys  put  into  their  welcome.  Upstairs 
the  uncle  reproached  the  nephew  gently,  saying, 

"  What  did  you  get  me  into  that  engagement  for?  " 

"  I  reckon  you  don't  want  to  be  unpopular,  do 
you,  uncle?  Well,  then,  don't  you  put  on  any  ex- 
clusiveness  in  a  mining-camp,  that's  all.  The  boys 
admire  you ;  but  if  you  was  to  leave  without  taking 
a  drink  with  them,  they'd  set  you  down  for  a  snob. 
And  besides,  you  said  you  had  home  talk  enough 
in  stock  to  keep  us  up  and  at  it  half  the  night." 

The  boy  was  right,  and  wise  • —  the  uncle  acknowl 
edged  it.  The  boy  was  wise  in  another  detail  which 
he  did  not  mention, —  except  to  himself:  "Uncle 
and  the  others  will  come  handy  —  in  the  way  of  nail 
ing  an  alibi  where  it  can't  be  budged." 

He  and  his  uncle  talked  diligently  about  three 
hours.  Then,  about  midnight,  Fetlock  stepped 
downstairs  and  took  a  position  in  the  dark  a  dozen 
steps  from  the  tavern,  and  waited.  Five  minutes 
later  Flint  Buckner  came  rocking  out  of  the  billiard- 
room  and  almost  brushed  him  as  he  passed. 

"I've  got  him!"  muttered  the  boy.  He  con 
tinued  to  himself,  looking  after  the  shadowy  form : 
"  Good-by —  good-by  for  good,  Flint  Buckner;  you 
called  my  mother  a  —  well,  never  mind  what:  it's  all 
right,  now;  you're  taking  your  last  walk,  friend." 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  341 

fie  went  musing  back  into  the  tavern.  "From 
now  till  one  is  an  hour.  We'll  spend  it  with  the 
boys:  it's  good  for  the  alibi." 

He  brought  Sherlock  Holmes  to  the  billiard- 
room,  which  was  jammed  with  eager  and  admiring 
miners;  the  guest  called  the  drinks,  and  the  fun  be 
gan.  Everybody  was  happy;  everybody  was  com 
plimentary;  the  ice  was  soon  broken,  songs,  anec 
dotes,  and  more  drinks  followed,  and  the  pregnant 
minutes  flew.  At  six  minutes  to  one,  when  the 
jollity  was  at  its  highest  — 

Boom  ! 

There  was  silence  instantly.  The  deep  sound 
came  rolling  and  rumbling  from  peak  to  peak  up 
the  gorge,  then  died  down,  and  ceased.  The  spell 
broke,  then,  and  the  men  made  a  rush  for  the  door, 
saying, 

"  Something's  blown  up  !  " 

Outside,  a  voice  in  the  darkness  said, 

"  It's  away  down  the  gorge;   I  saw  the  flash." 

The  crowd  poured  down  the  canyon  —  Holmes, 
Fetlock,  Archy  Stillman,  everybody.  They  made 
the  mile  in  a  few  minutes.  By  the  light  of  a  lantern 
they  found  the  smooth  and  solid  dirt  floor  of  Flint 
Buckner's  cabin;  of  the  cabin  itself  not  a  vestige 
remained,  not  a  rag  nor  a  splinter.  Nor  any  sign  of 
Flint.  Search  parties  sought  here  and  there  and 
yonder,  and  presently  a  cry  went  up. 

••Here  he  is!" 

It  was  true.     Fifty  yards  down  the  gulch  they  had 


342  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

found  him  —  that  is,  they  had  found  a  crushed  and 
lifeless  mass  which  represented  him.  Fetlock  Jones 
hurried  thither  with  the  others  and  looked. 

The  inquest  was  a  fifteen-minute  affair.  Ham 
Sandwich,  foreman  of  the  jury,  handed  up  the 
verdict,  which  was  phrased  with  a  certain  unstudied 
literary  grace,  and  closed  with  this  finding,  to  wit: 
that  "  deceased  came  to  his  death  by  his  own  act  or 
some  other  person  or  persons  unknown  to  this  jury 
not  leaving  any  family  or  similar  effects  behind  but 
his  cabin  which  was  blown  away  'and  God  have 
mercy  on  his  soul  amen." 

Then  the  impatient  jury  rejoined  the  main  crowd, 
for  the  storm-centre  of  interest  was  there  —  Sher 
lock  Holmes.  The  miners  stood  silent  and  reverent 
in  a  half-circle,  enclosing  a  large  vacant  space  which 
included  the  front  exposure  of  the  site  of  the  late 
premises.  In  this  considerable  space  the  Extraor 
dinary  Man  was  moving  about,  attended  by  his 
nephew  with  a  lantern.  With  a  tape  he  took  meas 
urements  of  the  cabin  site ;  of  the  distance  from  the 
wall  of  chaparral  to  the  road ;  of  the  height  of  the 
chaparral  bushes;  also  various  other  measurements. 
He  gathered  a  rag  here,  a  splinter  there,  and  a  pinch 
of  earth  yonder,  inspected  them  profoundly,  and 
preserved  them.  He  took  the  "lay  "  of  the  place 
with  a  pocket  compass,  allowing  two  seconds  for 
magnetic  variation.  He  took  the  time  (Pacific)  by 
his  watch,  correcting  it  for  local  time.  He  paced  oft 
the  distance  from  the  cabin  site  to  the  corpse,  and 


A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story  343 

corrected  that  for  tidal  differentiation.  He  took  the 
altitude  with  a  pocket-aneroid,  and  the  temperature 
with  a  pocket-thermometer.  Finally  he  said,  with  a 
stately  bow : 

"  It  is  finished.     Shall  we  return,  gentlemen?  " 

He  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  the  tavern,  and 
the  crowd  fell  into  his  wake,  earnestly  discussing  and 
admiring  the  Extraordinary  Man,  and  interlarding 
guesses  as  to  the  origin  of  the  tragedy  and  who  the 
author  of  it  might  be. 

44  My,  but  it's  grand  luck  having  him  here  —  hey, 
boys?"  said  Ferguson. 

11  It's  the  biggest  thing  of  the  century,"  said  Ham 
Sandwich.  "  It  '11  go  all  over  the  world;  you  mark 
my  words." 

44  You  bet!"  said  Jake  Parker  the  blacksmith. 
"It'll  boom  this  camp.  Ain't  it  so,  Wells- 
Fargo?" 

"  Well,  as  you  want  my  opinion  —  if  it's  any  sign 
of  how  /  think  about  it,  I  can  tell  you  this :  yester 
day  I  was  holding  the  Straight  Flush  claim  at  two 
dollars  a  foot;  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  can  get 
it  at  sixteen  to-day." 

11  Right  you  are,  Wells-Fargo  !  It's  the  grandest 
luck  a  new  camp  ever  struck.  Say,  did  you  see  him 
collar  them  little  rags  and  dirt  and  things?  What  an 
eye  !  He  just  can't  overlook  a  clew —  'tain't/w  him." 

14  That's  so.     And  they  wouldn't  mean  a  thing  to 
anybody  else;   but  to  him,  why,  they're  just  a  book 
—  large  print  at  that." 
v 


344  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"  Sure's  you're  born !  Them  odds  and  ends  have 
got  their  little  old  secret,  and  they  think  there  ain't 
anybody  can  pull  it ;  but,  land !  when  he  sets  his 
grip  there  they've  got  to  squeal,  and  don't  you  for 
get  it." 

"  Boys,  I  ain't  sorry,  now,  that  he  wasn't  here  to 
roust  out  the  child ;  this  is  a  bigger  thing,  by  a  long 
sight.  Yes,  sir,  and  more  tangled  up  and  scientific 
and  intellectual.'1 

'*  I  reckon  we're  all  of  us  glad  it's  turned  out  this 
way.  Glad?  'George!  it  ain't  any  name  for  it. 
Dontchuknow,  Archy  could  've  learnt  something  if 
he'd  had  the  nous  to  stand  by  and  take  notice  of 
how  that  man  works  the  system.  But  no;  he  went 
poking  up  into  the  chaparral  and  just  missed  the 
whole  thing." 

"It's  true  as  gospel;  I  seen  it  myself.  Well, 
Archy's  young.  He'll  know  better  one  of  these 
days." 

"  Say,  boys,  who  do  you  reckon  done  it?  " 

That  was  a  difficult  question,  and  brought  out  a 
world  of  unsatisfying  conjecture.  Various  men  were 
mentioned  as  possibilities,  but  one  by  one  they  were 
discarded  as  not  being  eligible.  No  one  but  young 
Hillyer  had  been  intimate  with  Flint  Buckner;  no 
one  had  really  had  a  quarrel  with  him ;  he  had 
affronted  every  man  who  had  tried  to  make  up  to 
hinij  although  not  quite  offensively  enough  to  require 
bloodshed.  There  was  one  name  that  was  upon 
every  tongue  from  the  start,  but  it  was  the  last  to  get 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  345 

utterance  —  Fetlock  Jones's.  It  was  Pat  Riley  that 
mentioned  it. 

'*  Oh,  well,"  the  boys  said,  "  of  course  we've  all 
thought  of  him,  because  he  had  a  million  rights  to 
kill  Flint  Buckner,  and  it  was  just  his  plain  duty  to 
do  it.  But  all  the  same  there's  two  things  we  can't 
get  around :  for  one  thing,  he  hasn't  got  the  sand ; 
and  for  another,  he  wasn't  anywhere  near  the  placa 
when  it  happened." 

*'I  know  it,"  said  Pat.  "He  was  there  in  the 
billiard-room  with  us  when  it  happened." 

"  Yes,  and  was  there  all  the  time  for  an  hour  before 
it  happened." 

44  It's  so.  And  lucky  for  him,  too.  He'd  have 
been  suspected  in  a  minute  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  tavern  dining-room  had  been  cleared  of  all  its 
furniture  save  one  six-foot  pine  table  and  a 
chair.  This  table  was  against  one  end  of  the  room ; 
the  chair  was  on  it;  Sherlock  Holmes,  stately,  im 
posing,  impressive,  sat  in  the  chair.  The  public 
stood.  The  room  was  full.  The  tobacco  smoke 
was  dense,  the  stillness  profound. 

The  Extraordinary  Man  raised  his  hand  to  com 
mand  additional  silence;  held  it  in  the  air  a  few 
moments;  then,  in  brief,  crisp  terms  he  put  forward 
question  after  question,  and  noted  the  answers  with 
"  Um-ums,"  nods  of  the  head,  and  so  on.  By  this 
process  he  learned  all  about  Flint  Buckner,  his  char 
acter,  conduct,  and  habits,  that  the  people  were  able 
to  tell  him.  It  thus  transpired  that  the  Extraordi 
nary  Man's  nephew  was  the  only  person  in  the  camp 
who  had  a  killing-grudge  against  Flint  Buckner. 
Mr.  Holmes  smiled  compassionately  upon  the  wit 
ness,  and  asked,  languidly  — 

"  Do  any  of  you  gentlemen  chance  to  know  where 
the  lad  Fetlock  Jones  was  at  the  time  of  the  ex 
plosion?  " 

A  thunderous  response  followed  — 

(346* 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  347 

"  In  the  billiard-room  of  this  house !  " 

"  Ah.     And  had  he  just  come  in?  " 

"  Been  there  all  of  an  hour !  " 

"  Ah.  It  is  about  —  about  —  well,  about  how  far 
might  it  be  to  the  scene  of  the  explosion  ?  ' ' 

"All  of  a  mile!" 

"  Ah.     It  isn't  much  of  an  alibi,  'tis  true,  but —  " 

A  storm-burst  of  laughter,  mingled  with  shouts 
of  "By  jiminy,  but  he's  chain-lightning!"  and 
"  Ain't  you  sorry  you  spoke,  Sandy?  "  shut  off  the 
rest  of  the  sentence,  and  the  crushed  witness  drooped 
his  blushing  face  in  pathetic  shame.  The  inquisitor 
resumed : 

"The  lad  Jones's  somewhat  distant  connection 
with  the  case"  (laughter)  "having  been  disposed 
of,  let  us  now  call  the  ^-witnesses  of  the  tragedy, 
and  listen  to  what  they  have  to  say." 

He  got  out  his  fragmentary  clews  and  arranged 
them  on  a  sheet  of  cardboard  on  his  knee.  The 
house  held  its  breath  and  watched. 

"We  have  the  longitude  and  the  latitude,  cor 
rected  for  magnetic  variation,  and  this  gives  us  the 
exact  location  of  the  tragedy.  We  have  the  altitude, 
the  temperature,  and  the  degree  of  humidity  pre 
vailing —  inestimably  valuable,  since  they  enable  us 
to  estimate  with  precision  the  degree  of  influence 
which  they  would  exercise  upon  the  mood  and  dis 
position  of  the  assassin  at  that  time  of  the  night." 

{Buzz  of  admiration ;  muttered  remark,  "By 
George,  but  he's  deep  /")  He  fingered  his  clews. 


M8  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

'  *  And  now  let  us  ask  these  mute  witnesses  to  speak 
to  us. 

l<  Here  we  have  an  empty  linen  shotbag.  What  is 
its  message?  This:  that  robbery  was  the  motive, 
not  revenge.  What  is  its  further  message?  This: 
that  the  assassin  was  of  inferior  intelligence  —  shall 
we  say  light- witted,  or  perhaps  approaching  that? 
How  do  we  know  this?  Because  a  person  of  sound 
intelligence  would  not  have  proposed  to  rob  the  man 
Buckner,  who  never  had  much  money  with  him. 
But  the  assassin  might  have  been  a  stranger?  Let 
the  bag  speak  again.  I  take  from  it  this  article.  It 
is  a  bit  of  silver-bearing  quartz.  It  is  peculiar.  Ex 
amine  it,  please  —  you  —  and  you  —  and  you.  Now 
pass  it  back,  please.  There  is  but  one  lode  on  this 
coast  which  produces  just  that  character  and  color  of 
quartz ;  and  that  is  a  lode  which  crops  out  for  nearly 
two  miles  on  a  stretch,  and  in  my  opinion  is  des 
tined,  at  no  distant  day,  to  confer  upon  its  locality  a 
globe-girdling  celebrity,  and  upon  its  two  hundred 
owners  riches  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Name 
that  lode,  please." 

"The  Consolidated  Christian  Science  and  Mary 
Ann  !  "  was  the  prompt  response. 

A  wild  crash  of  hurrahs  followed,  and  every  man 
reached  for  his  neighbor's  hand  and  wrung  it,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes;  and  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson 
shouted,  "  The  Straight  Flush  is  on  the  lode,  and  up 
she  goes  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  foot—  you  hear 
me/99 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  349 

When  quiet  fell,  Mr.  Holmes  resumed: 
"We  perceive,  then,  that  three  facts  are  estab 
lished,  to  wit:  the  assassin  was  approximately  light- 
witted ;  he  was  not  a  stranger ;  his  motive  was  rob 
bery,  not  revenge.  Let  us  proceed.  I  hold  in  my 
hand  a  small  fragment  of  fuse,  with  the  recent  smell 
of  fire  upon  it.  What  is  its  testimony?  Taken 
with  the  corroborative  evidence  of  the  quartz,  it  re 
veals  to  us  that  the  assassin  was  a  miner.  What 
does  it  tell  us  further?  This,  gentlemen:  that  the 
assassination  was  consummated  by  means  of  an  ex 
plosive.  What  else  does  it  say?  This:  that  the  ex 
plosive  was  located  against  the  side  of  the  cabin 
nearest  the  road  —  the  front  side  —  for  within  six 
feet  of  that  spot  I  found  it. 

4  I  hold  in  my  fingers  a  burnt  Swedish  match  — 
the  kind  one  rubs  on  a  safety-box.  I  found  it  in  the 
road,  622  feet  from  the  abolished  cabin.  What  does 
it  say?  This:  that  the  train  was  fired  from  that 
point.  What  further  does  it  tell  us?  This:  that  the 
assassin  was  left-handed.  I  low  do  I  know  this?  I 
should  not  be  able  to  explain  to  you,  gentlemen, 
how  I  know  it,  the  signs  being  so  subtle  that  only 
long  experience  and  deep  study  can  enable  one  to 
detect  them.  But  the  signs  are  here,  and  they  are 
reinforced  by  a  fact  which  you  must  have  often 
noticed  in  the  great  detective  narratives  —  that  all 
assassins  are  left-handed." 

44  By  Jackson,  that's  so!"  said  Ham  Sandwich, 
bringing  his  great  hand  down  with  a  resounding  slap 


350  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

upon  his  thigh;  "blamed  if  I  ever  thought  of  it 
before." 

"Nor  I!"  "Nor  I!"  cried  several.  "Oh, 
there  can't  anything  escape  him — look  at  his  eye  !  " 

"  Gentlemen,  distant  as  the  murderer  was  from  his 
doomed  victim,  he  did  not  wholly  escape  injury. 
This  fragment  of  wood  which  I  now  exhibit  to  you 
struck  him.  It  drew  blood.  Wherever  he  is,  he 
bears  the  telltale  mark.  I  picked  it  up  where  he 
stood  when  he  fired  the  fatal  train."  He  looked 
out  over  the  house  from  his  high  perch,  and  his 
countenance  began  to  darken ;  he  slowly  raised  his 
hand,  and  pointed  — 

"  There  stands  the  assassin  !  " 

For  a  moment  the  house  was  paralyzed  with 
amazement;  then  twenty  voices  burst  out  with: 

"Sammy  Hillyer?  Oh,  hell,  no!  Him?  It's 
pure  foolishness !  " 

"  Take  care,  gentlemen  —  be  not  hasty.  Observe 
—  he  has  the  blood-mark  on  his  brow." 

Hillyer  turned  white  with  fright.  He  was  near  to 
crying.  He  turned  this  way  and  that,  appealing  to 
every  face  for  help  and  sympathy ;  and  held  out  his 
supplicating  hands  toward  Holmes  and  began  to 
plead : 

"Don't,  oh,  don't!  I  never  did  it;  I  give  my 
word  I  never  did  it.  The  way  I  got  this  hurt  on 
my  forehead  was  —  ' ' 

"Arrest  him,  constable!"  cried  Holmes.  "I 
will  swear  out  the  warrant." 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  351 

The  constable  moved  reluctantly  forward  —  hesi 
tated —  stopped. 

Hillyer  broke  out  with  another  appeal.  "  Oh, 
Archy,  don't  let  them  do  it;  it  would  kill  mother! 
You  know  how  I  got  the  hurt.  Tell  them,  and 
save  me,  Archy;  save  me!  " 

Stillman  worked  his  way  to  the  front,  and  said : 

"Yes,  I'll  save  you.  Don't  be  afraid."  Then 
he  said  to  the  house,  '*  Never  mind  how  he  got  the 
hurt;  it  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  this  case,  and 
isn't  of  any  consequence." 

14  God  bless  you,  Archy,  for  a  true  friend  !  " 

11  Hurrah  for  Archy!  Go  in,  boy,  and  play  'em 
a  knock-down  flush  to  their  two  pair  'n'  a  jack !  " 
shouted  the  house,  pride  in  their  home  talent  and  a 
patriotic  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  it  rising  suddenly 
in  the  public  heart  and  changing  the  whole  attitude 
of  the  situation. 

Young  Stillman  waited  for  the  noise  to  cease* 
then  he  said, 

"  I  will  ask  Tom  Jeffries  to  stand  by  that  doo* 
yonder,  and  Constable  Harris  to  stand  by  the  othei 
one  here,  and  not  let  anybody  leave  the  room." 

"  Said  and  done.      Go  on,  old  man  !  " 

"The  criminal  is  present,  I  believe.  I  will  show 
him  to  you  before  long,  in  case  I  am  right  in  my 
guess.  Now  I  will  tell  you  all  about  the  tragedy, 
from  start  to  finish.  The  motive  wasn't  robbery; 
it  was  revenge.  The  murderer  wasn't  light- witted. 
He  didn't  stand  622  feet  away.  He  didn't  get  hit 


352  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

with  a  piece  of  wood.  He  didn't  place  the  explo 
sive  against  the  cabin.  He  didn't  bring  a  shot-bag 
with  him,  and  he  wasn't  left-handed.  With  the  ex 
ception  of  these  errors,  the  distinguished  guest's 
statement  of  the  case  is  substantially  correct." 

A  comfortable  laugh  rippled  over  the  house; 
friend  nodded  to  friend,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  That's 
the  word,  with  the  bark  on  it.  Good  lad,  good  boy. 
He  ain't  lowering  his  flag  any !  " 

The  guest's  serenity  was  not  disturbed.  Stillman 
resumed : 

"  I  also  have  some  witnesses;  and  I  will  presently 
tell  you  where  you  can  find  some  more."  He  held 
up  a  piece  of  coarse  wire;  the  crowd  craned  their 
necks  to  see.  '*  It  has  a  smooth  coating  of  melted 
tallow  on  it.  And  here  is  a  candle  which  is  burned 
half-way  down.  The  remaining  half  of  it  has  marks 
cut  upon  it  an  inch  apart.  Soon  I  will  tell  you  where 
I  found  these  things.  I  will  now  put  aside  reasonings, 
guesses,  the  impressive  hitchings  of  odds  and  ends 
of  clews  together,  and  the  other  showy  theatricals  of 
the  detective  trade,  and  tell  you  in  a  plain,  straight 
forward  way  just  how  this  dismal  thing  happened." 

He  paused  a  moment,  for  effect  —  to  allow  silence 
and  suspense  to  intensify  and  concentrate  the  house's 
interest ;  then  he  went  on : 

'  The  assassin  studied  out  his  plan  with  a  good 
deal  of  pains.  It  was  a  good  plan,  very  ingenious, 
and  showed  an  intelligent  mind,  not  a  feeble  one. 
It  was  a  plan  which  was  well  calculated  to  ward  oft 


A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story  353 

all  suspicion  from  its  inventor.  In  the  first  place, 
he  marked  a  candle  into  spaces  an  inch  apart,  and  lit 
it  and  timed  it.  He  found  it  took  three  hours  to 
burn  four  inches  of  it.  I  tried  it  myself  for  half  an 
hour,  awhile  ago,  upstairs  here,  while  the  inquiry 
into  Flint  Buckner's  character  and  ways  was  being 
conducted  in  this  room,  and  I  arrived  in  that  way  at 
the  rate  of  a  candle's  consumption  when  sheltered 
from  the  wind.  Having  proved  his  trial-candle's 
rate,  he  blew  it  out —  I  have  already  shown  it  to  you 
—  and  put  his  inch-marks  on  a  fresh  one. 

"  He  put  the  fresh  one  into  a  tin  candlestick, 
fhen  at  the  five-hour  mark  he  bored  a  hole  through 
the  candle  with  a  red-hot  wire.  I  have  already 
shown  you  the  wire,  with  a  smooth  coat  of  tallow  on 
it — tallow  that  had  been  melted  and  had  cooled. 

"With  labor  —  very  hard  labor,  I  should  say  — 
he  struggled  up  through  the  stiff  chaparral  that 
clothes  the  steep  hillside  back  of  Flint  Buckner's 
place,  tugging  an  empty  flour-barrel  with  him.  He 
placed  it  in  that  absolutely  secure  hiding-place,  and 
in  the  bottom  of  it  he  set  the  candlestick.  Then  he 
measured  off  about  thirty-five  feet  of  fuse  —  the 
barrel's  distance  from  the  back  of  the  cabin.  He 
bored  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  barrel  —  here  is  the 
large  gimlet  he  did  it  with.  He  went  on  and 
finished  his  work;  and  when  it  was  done,  one  end  of 
the  fuse  was  in  Buckner's  cabin,  and  the  other  end, 
with  a  notch  chipped  in  it  to  expose  the  powder,  was 
in  the  hole  in  the  candle  —  timed  to  blow  the  place 


354  A  Double-Barrel       )e.  Jive  Story 

up  at  one  o'clock  this  rrK  g,  provided  the  candle 
was  lit  about  eight  o'  yesterday  evening  — 

which  I  am  betting  it  \*  ind  provided  there  was 

an  explosive  in  the  ca  .md  connected  with  that 
end  of  the  fuse  —  which  a  also  betting  there  was, 
though  I  can't  prove  it.  -ys,  the  barrel  is  there  in 
the  chaparral,  the  candle  :mains  are  in  it  in  the  tin 
stick;  the  burnt-out  fust  in  the  gimlet-hole,  the 
other  end  is  down  the  ill  where  the  late  cabi>* 
stood.  I  saw  them  all  an  hour  or  two  ago,  when 
the  Professor  here  was  measuring  off  unimplicated 
vacancies  and  collecting  relics  that  hadn't  anything 
to  do  with  the  case." 

He  paused.  The  house  drew  a  long,  deep  breath, 
shook  its  strained  cords  and  muscles  free  and  burst 
into  cheers.  "Dang  him!"  said  Ham  Sandwich, 
"  that's  why  he  was  snooping  around  in  the  chaparral, 
instead  of  picking  up  points  out  of  the  P'fessor's 
game.  Looky  here  —  he  ain't  no  fool,  boys/'" 

"  No,  sir  !     Why,  great  Scott—  " 

But  Stillman  was  resuming: 

1 '  While  we  were  out  yonder  an  hour  or  two  ago 
the  owner  of  the  gimlet  and  the  trial-candle  took 
them  from  a  place  where  he  had  concealed  them  — 
it  was  not  a  good  place  —  and  carried  them  to  what 
he  probably  thought  was  a  better  one,  two  hundred 
yards  up  in  the  pine  woods,  and  hid  them  there, 
covering  them  over  with  pine  needles.  It  was  there 
that  I  found  them.  The  gimlet  exactly  fits  the  hole 
in  the  barrel.  And  now  —  ' ' 


A  Double'^ar    L"-i  Detective  Story  355 

The    Extraordinary1         n    interrupted    him.      He 
said,   sarcastically: 

1  We  have  had  a  ve;         >tty  fairy-tale,  gentlemen 
-  very  pretty  indeed.   '      :&  I  would  like  to  ask  this 
young  man  a  question  c        o." 

Some  of  the  boys  wir          and  Ferguson  said, 
"I'm  afraid  Archy's      a;ag  to  catch  it  now." 
The    others  lost  their     miles  and  sobered  down. 
Mr.  Holmes  said : 

"  Let  us  proceed  to  examine  into  this  fairy-tale  in 
a    consecutive    and    orderly    way  —  by    geometrical 
progression,  so  to  speak  —  linking  detail  to  detail  in 
a    steadily  advancing    and    remorselessly    consistent 
and  unassailable  march  upon  this  tinsel  toy-fortress 
of  error,  the  dream-fabric   of  a  callow  imagination. 
To  begin  with,  young  sir,  I  desire  to  ask  you  but 
three    questions    at    present  —  at   present.     Did    I 
understand  you  to  say  it  was  your  opinion  that  the 
supposititious    candle    was    lighted    at   about   eight 
o'clock  yesterday  evening?  " 
"  Yes,  sir  —  about  eight." 
'*  Could  you  say  exactly  eight?  " 
"  Well,  no,  I  couldn't  be  that  exact." 
"  Um.     If  a  person  had  been  passing  along  there 
just  about  that  time,  he  would  have  been  almost  sure 
to  encounter  that  assassin,  do  you  think?  " 
"Yes,  I  should  think  so." 

"  Thank  you,  that  is  all.     For  the  present.     I  say, 
all  for  the  present. ' ' 

4  *  Dern  him !  he's  laying  for  Archy,"  said  Ferguson 


356  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

"It's  so,"  said  Ham  Sandwich.  "  I  don't  like 
the  look  of  it." 

Stillman  said,  glancing  at  the  guest, 

"I  was  along  there  myself  at  half  past  eight  — 
no,  about  nine." 

"In-deed?  This  is  interesting  —  this  is  very  in 
teresting.  Perhaps  you  encountered  the  assassin  ?" 

"No,  I  encountered  no  one." 

"  Ah.  Then  —  if  you  will  excuse  the  remark  —  I 
do  not  quite  see  the  relevancy  of  the  information." 

"  It  has  none.  At  present.  I  say  it  has  none  — 
at  present." 

He  paused.  Presently  he  resumed:  "I  did  not 
encounter  the  assassin,  but  I  am  on  his  track,  I  am 
sure,  for  I  believe  he  is  in  this  room.  I  will  ask  you 
all  to  pass  one  by  one  in  front  of  me  —  here,  where 
there  is  a  good  light  —  so  that  I  can  see  your  feet." 

A  buzz  of  excitement  swept  the  place,  and  the 
march  began,  the  guest  looking  on  with  an  iron 
attempt  at  gravity  which  was  not  an  unqualified  suc 
cess.  Stillman  stooped,  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  gazed  down  intently  at  each  pair  of  feet 
as  it  passed.  Fifty  men  tramped  monotonously  by 
—  with  no  result.  Sixty.  Seventy.  The  thing  was 
beginning  to  look  absurd.  The  guest  remarked, 
with  suave  irony, 

"Assassins  appear  to  be  scarce  this  evening." 

The  house  saw  the  humor  of  it,  and  refreshed  it 
self  with  a  cordial  laugh.  Ten  or  twelve  more  can 
didates  tramped  by  —  no,  danced  by,  with  airy  and 


STILLMAN    ACCUSES    SHERLOCK    HOLMES 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  357 

ridiculous  capers  which  convulsed  the  spectators  — 
then  suddenly  Stillman  put  out  his  hand  and  said, 

44  This  is  the  assassin  !  " 

14  Fetlock  Jones,  by  the  great  Sanhedrim !  "  roared 
the  crowd ;  and  at  once  let  fly  a  pyrotechnic  explo 
sion  and  dazzle  and  confusion  of  stirring  remarks  in 
spired  by  the  situation. 

At  the  height  of  the  turmoil  the  guest  stretched 
out  his  hand,  commanding  peace.  The  authority  of 
a  great  name  and  a  great  personality  laid  its  mysteri 
ous  compulsion  upon  the  house,  and  it  obeyed. 
Out  of  the  panting  calm  which  succeeded,  the  guest 
spoke,  saying,  with  dignity  and  feeling: 

'*  This  is  serious.  It  strikes  at  an  innocent  life. 
Innocent  beyond  suspicion  !  Innocent  beyond  per- 
adventure  !  Hear  me  prove  it ;  observe  how  simple 
a  fact  can  brush  out  of  existence  this  witless  lie. 
Listen.  My  friends,  that  lad  was  never  out  of  my 
sight  yesterday  evening  at  any  time  !  ' ' 

It  made  a  deep  impression.  Men  turned  their 
eyes  upon  Stillman  with  grave  inquiry  in  them. 
His  face  brightened,  and  he  said, 

41 1  knew  there  was  another  one!  "  He  stepped 
briskly  to  the  table  and  glanced  at  the  guest's  feet, 
then  up  at  his  face,  and  said :  *4  You  were  with  him ! 
You  were  not  fifty  steps  from  him  when  he  lit  the 
candle  that  by  and  by  fired  the  powder!  "  (Sensa 
tion.)  44And  what  is  more,  you  furnished  the 
matches  yourself !  ' ' 

Plainly  the  guest  seemed  hit;  it  looked  so  to  the 
23 


358  A  Dcwble-Barreied  Detective  Story 

public.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak:  the  words 
did  not  come  freely. 

4 '  This  —  er  —  this  is  insanity  —  this  —  ' ' 

Stillman  pressed  his  evident  advantage  home.  He 
held  up  a  charred  match. 

44  Here  is  one  of  them.  I  found  it  in  the  barrel 
—  and  there's  another  one  there/' 

The  guest  found  his  voice  at  once. 

"  Yes  —  and  put  them  there  yourself!  " 

It  was  recognized  a  good  shot.     Stillman  retorted. 

"  It  is  wax — a  breed  unknown  to  this  camp.  I 
am  ready  to  be  searched  for  the  box.  Are  you?  " 

The  guest  was  staggered  this  time  —  the  dullest 
eye  could  see  it.  He  fumbled  with  his  hands ;  once 
or  twice  his  lips  moved,  but  the  words  did  not  come. 
The  house  waited  and  watched,  in  tense  suspense, 
the  stillness  adding  effect  to  the  situation.  Presently 
Stillman  said,  gently, 

l<  We  are  waiting  for  your  decision." 

There  was  silence  again  during  several  moments ; 
then  the  guest  answered,  in  a  low  voice, 

44 1  refuse  to  be  searched." 

There  was  no  noisy  demonstration,  but  all  about 
the  house  one  voice  after  another  muttered : 

44  That  settles  it !     He's  Archy's  meat." 

What  to  do  now?  Nobody  seemed  to  know.  It 
was  an  embarrassing  situation  for  the  moment  — 
merely,  of  course,  because  matters  had  taken  such  a 
sudden  and  unexpected  turn  that  these  unpracticed 
minds  were  not  prepared  for  it,  and  had  come  to  a 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  359 

standstill,  like  a  stopped  clock,  under  the  shock. 
But  after  a  little  the  machinery  began  to  work  again, 
tentatively,  and  by  twos  and  threes  the  men  put  their 
heads  together  and  privately  buzzed  over  this  and 
that  and  the  other  proposition.  One  of  these 
propositions  met  with  much  favor ;  it  was,  to  confer 
upon  the  assassin  a  vote  of  thanks  for  removing  Flint 
Buckner,  and  let  him  go.  But  the  cooler  heads  op 
posed  it,  pointing  out  that  addled  brains  in  the  East 
ern  States  would  pronounce  it  a  scandal,  and  make 
no  end  of  foolish  noise  about  it.  Finally  the  cool 
heads  got  the  upper  hand,  and  obtained  general  con 
sent  to  a  proposition  of  their  own ;  their  leader  then 
called  the  house  to  order  and  stated  it  —  to  this  effect : 
that  Fetlock  Jones  be  jailed  and  put  upon  trial. 

The  motion  was  carried.  Apparently  there  was 
nothing  further  to  do  now,  and  the  people  were  glad, 
for,  privately,  they  were  impatient  to  get  out  and 
rush  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  see  whether  that 
barrel  and  the  other  things  were  really  there  or  not. 

But  no  —  the  break-up  got  a  check.  The  sur 
prises  were  not  over  yet.  For  a  while  Fetlock  Jones 
had  been  silently  sobbing,  unnoticed  in  the  absorb 
ing  excitements  which  had  been  following  one  an 
other  so  persistently  for  some  time ;  but  when  his 
arrest  and  trial  were  decreed,  he  broke  out  despair 
ingly,  and  said : 

"  No !  it's  no  use.     I  don't  want  any  jail,  I  don't 
want  any  trial;  I've  had   all  the  hard  luck  I  want, 
and  all  the  miseries.     Hang  me  now,  and  let  me 
w 


360  A  Double- Barreled  Detective  Story 

out!  It  would  all  come  out,  anyway  —  there 
couldn't  anything  save  me.  He  has  told  it  all,  just 
as  if  he'd  been  with  me  and  seen  it  —  /don't  know 
how  he  found  out;  and  you'll  find  the  barrel  and 
things,  and  then  I  wouldn't  have  any  chance  any 
more.  I  killed  him;  and  you'd  have  done  it  too,  if 
he'd  treated  you  like  a  dog,  and  you  only  a  boy, 
and  weak  and  poor,  and  not  a  friend  to  help  you." 

44  And  served  him  damned  well  right!  "  broke  in 
Ham  Sandwich.  "  Looky  here,  boys —  ' 

From  the  constable :  ' '  Order !  Order,  gentle 
men!" 

A  voice:  "  Did  your  uncle  know  what  you  was 
up  to?" 

44  No,  he  didn't." 

4*  Did  he  give  you  the  matches,  sure  enough?  " 

'*  Yes,  he  did;  but  he  didn't  know  what  I  wanted 
them  for." 

14  When  you  was  out  on  such  a  business  as  that, 
how  did  you  venture  to  risk  having  him  along  —  and 
him  a  detective  ?  How's  that?  " 

The  boy  hesitated,  fumbled  with  his  buttons  in  an 
embarrassed  way,  then  said,  shyly, 

44 1  know  about  detectives,  on  account  of  having 
them  in  the  family;  and  if  you  don't  want  them  to 
find  out  about  a  thing,  it's  best  to  have  them  around 
when  you  do  it." 

The  cyclone  of  laughter  which  greeted  this  narve 
discharge  of  wisdom  did  not  modify  the  poor  little 
waif's  embarrassment  in  any  large  degree. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

rROM  a  letter  to    Mrs.    Stillman,   dated    merely 
"Tuesday." 

Fetlock  Jones  was  put  under  lock  and  key  in  an  unoccupied  log 
cabin,  and  left  there  to  await  his  trial.  Constable  Harris  provided  him 
with  a  couple  of  days'  rations,  instructed  him  to  keep  a  good  guard 
over  himself,  and  promised  to  look  in  on  him  as  soon  as  further  supplies 
should  be  due. 

Next  morning  a  score  of  us  went  with  Hillyer,  out  of  friendship, 
and  helped  him  bury  his  late  relative,  the  unlamented  Buckner,  and  I 
acted  as  first  assistant  pall-bearer,  Hillyer  acting  as  chief.  Just  as  we 
had  finished  our  labors  a  ragged  and  melancholy  stranger,  carrying  an 
old  hand-bag,  limped  by  with  his  head  down,  and  I  caught  the  scent  I 
had  chased  around  the  globe !  It  was  the  odor  of  Paradise  to  my  per 
ishing  hope ! 

In  a  moment  I  was  at  his  side  and  had  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  slumped  to  the  ground  as  if  a  stroke  of  lightning  had 
withered  him  in  his  tracks;  and  as  the  boys  came  running  he  struggled 
to  his  knees  and  put  up  his  pleading  hands  to  me,  and  out  of  his  chat 
tering  jaws  he  begged  me  to  persecute  him  no  more,  and  said, 

"  You  have  hunted  me  around  the  world,  Sherlock  Holmes,  yet  God 
is  my  witness  I  ha^e  never  done  any  man  harm !  " 

A  glance  at  his  wild  eyes  showed  us  that  he  was  insane.  That  was 
my  work,  mother !  The  tidings  of  your  death  can  some  day  repeat  the 
misery  I  felt  in  that  moment,  but  nothing  else  can  ever  do  it.  The  boys 
lifted  him  up,  and  gathered  about  him,  and  were  full  of  pity  of  him, 
and  said  the  gentlest  and  touchingest  things  to  him,  and  said  cheer  up 
and  don't  be  troubled,  he  was  among  friends  now,  and  they  would  take 
care  of  him,  and  protect  him,  and  hang  any  man  that  laid  a  hand  on 
him.  They  are  just  like  so  many  mothers,  the  rough  mining-camp  boys 


362  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

are,  when  you  wake  up  the  south  side  of  their  hearts;  yes,  and  just 
like  so  many  reckless  and  unreasoning  children  when  you  wake  up  the 
opposite  side  of  that  muscle.  They  did  everything  they  could  think  of 
to  comfort  him,  but  nothing  succeeded  until  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson,  who 
is  a  clever  strategist,  said, 

"  If  it's  only  Sherlock  Holmes  that's  troubling  [you,  you  needn't 
worry  any  more." 

"  Why?  "  asked  the  forlorn  lunatic,  eagerly. 

"  Because  he's  dead  again." 

"Dead!  Dead!  Oh,  don't  trifle  with  a  poor  wreck  like  me.  Is 
he  dead?  On  honor,  now —  is  he  telling  me  true,  boys?  " 

"True  as  you're  standing  there  I"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  and  they  all 
backed  up  the  statement  in  a  body. 

"They  hung  him  in  San  Bernardino  last  week,"  added  Ferguson, 
clinching  the  matter,  "  whilst  he  was  searching  around  after  you.  Mis 
took  him  for  another  man.  They're  sorry,  but  they  can't  help  it  now." 

"They're  a-building  him  a  monument,"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  with 
the  air  of  a  person  who  had  contributed  to  it,  and  knew. 

"James  Walker"  drew  a  deep  sigh  —  evidently  a  sigh  of  relief  — 
and  said  nothing;  but  his  eyes  lost  something  of  their  wildness,  his 
countenance  cleared  visibly,  and  its  drawn  look  relaxed  a  little.  We  all 
went  to  our  cabin,  and  the  boys  cooked  him  the  best  dinner  the  camp 
could  furnish  the  materials  for,  and  while  they  were  about  it  Hillyer  and 
I  outfitted  him  from  hat  to  shoe-leather  with  new  clothes  of  ours,  and 
made  a  comely  and  presentable  old  gentleman  of  him.  "Old"  is  the 
right  word,  and  a  pity,  too :  old  by  the  droop  of  him,  and  the  frost  upon 
his  hair,  and  the  marks  which  sorrow  and  distress  have  left  upon  his  face; 
though  he  is  only  in  his  prime  in  the  matter  of  years.  While  he  ate, 
we  smoked  and  chatted;  and  when  he  was  finishing  he  found  his  voice 
at  last,  and  of  his  own  accord  broke  out  with  his  personal  history.  I 
cannot  furnish  his  exact  words,  but  I  will  come  as  near  it  as  I  can. 

THE    "WRONG   MAN'S "    STORY. 

It  happened  like  this:  I  was  in  Denver.  I  had  been  there  many 
years;  sometimes  I  remember  how  many,  sometimes  I  don't  —  but  it 
isn't  any  matter.  All  of  a  sudden  I  got  a  notice  to  leave,  or  I  would 
be  exposed  for  a  horrible  crime  committed  long  before  —  years  and  years 
before  —  in  the  East. 

I  knew  about  that  crime,  but  I  was  not  the  criminal;  it  was  a  cousin 
of  mine  of  the  same  name.  What  should  I  better  do?  My  head  was 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  363 

all  disordered  by  fear,  and  I  didn't  know.  I  was  allowed  very  little 
time  —  only  one  day,  I  think  it  was.  I  would  be  ruined  if  I  was  pub 
lished,  and  the  people  would  lynch  me,  and  not  believe  what  I  said. 
It  is  always  the  way  with  lynchings:  when  they  find  out  it  is  a  mistake 
they  are  sorry,  but  it  is  too  late, —  the  same  as  it  was  with  Mr.  Holmes, 
you  see.  So  I  said  I  would  sell  out  and  get  money  to  live  on,  and  run 
away  until  it  blew  over  and  I  could  come  back  with  my  proofs.  Then 
I  escaped  in  the  night  and  went  a  long  way  off  in  the  mountains  some 
where,  and  lived  disguised  and  had  a  false  name. 

I  got  more  and  more  troubled  and  worried,  and  my  troubles  made 
me  see  spirits  and  hear  voices,  and  I  could  not  think  straight  and  clear 
on  any  subject,  but  got  confused  and  involved  and  had  to  give  it  up, 
because  my  head  hurt  so.  It  got  to  be  worse  and  worse;  more  spirits 
and  more  voices.  They  were  about  me  all  the  time;  at  first  only  in  the 
night,  then  in  the  day  too.  They  were  always  whispering  around  my 
bed  and  plotting  against  me,  and  it  broke  my  sleep  and  kept  me  fagged 
out,  because  I  got  no  good  rest. 

And  then  came  the  worst.  One  night  the  whispers  said,  "  We'll 
never  manage,  because  we  can't  see  him,  and  so  can't  point  him  out  to 
the  people." 

They  sighed;  then  one  said:  "We  must  bring  Sherlock  Holmes. 
He  can  be  here  in  twelve  days." 

They  all  agreed,  and  whispered  and  jibbered  with  joy.  But  my 
heart  broke;  for  I  had  read  about  that  man,  and  knew  what  it  would 
be  to  have  him  upon  my  track,  with  his  superhuman  penetration  and 
tireless  energies. 

The  spirits  went  away  to  fetch  him,  and  I  got  up  at  once  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  fled  away,  carrying  nothing  but  the  hand-bag 
that  had  my  money  in  it  —  thirty  thousand  dollars;  two-thirds  of  it  are 
in  the  bag  there  yet. .  It  was  forty  days  before  that  man  caught  up  on 
my  track.  I  just  escaped.  From  habit  he  had  written  his  real  name 
on  a  tavern  register,  but  had  scratched  it  out  and  written  "  Dagget 
Barclay"  in  the  place  of  it.  But  fear  gives  you  a  watchful  eye  and 
keen,  and  I  read  the  true  name  through  the  scratches,  and  fled  like  a 
deer. 

He  has  hunted  me  all  over  this  world  for  three  years  and  a  half  — 
the  Pacific  States,  Australasia,  India  —  everywhere  you  can  think  of ; 
then  back  to  Mexico  and  up  to  California  again,  giving  me  hardly  any 
rest;  but  that  name  on  the  registers  always  saved  me,  and  what  is  left 


364  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

of  me  is  alive  yet.  And  I  am  so  tired !  A  cruel  time  he  has  given  me, 
yet  I  give  you  my  honor  I  have  never  harmed  him  nor  any  man. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  story,  and  it  stirred  those  boys  to  blood- 
heat,  be  sure  of  it.  As  for  me- — each  word  burnt  a  hole  in  me  where 
it  struck. 

We  voted  that  the  old  man  should  bunk  with  us,  and  be  my  guest 
and  Hillyer's.  I  shall  keep  my  own  counsel,  naturally;  but  as  soon  as 
he  is  well  rested  and  nourished,  I  shall  take  him  to  Denver  and  rehabili 
tate  his  fortunes. 

The  boys  gave  the  old  fellow  the  bone-mashing  good-fellowship 
handshake  of  the  mines,  and  then  scattered  away  to  spread  the  news. 

At  dawn  next  morning  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson  and  Ham  Sandwich 
called  us  softly  out,  and  said,  privately : 

"  That  news  about  the  way  that  old  stranger  has  been  treated  has 
spread  all  around,  and  the  camps  are  up.  They  are  piling  in  from 
everywhere,  and  are  going  to  lynch  the  P'fessor.  Constable  Harris  is 
in  a  dead  funk,  and  has  telephoned  the  sheriff.  Come  along !  " 

We  started  on  a  run.  The  others  were  privileged  to  feel  as  they 
chose,  but  in  my  heart's  privacy  I  hoped  the  sheriff  would  arrive  in 
time;  for  I  had  small  desire  that  Sherlock  Holmes  should  hang  for  my 
deeds,  as  you  can  easily  believe.  I  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  the 
sheriff,  but  for  reassurance's  sake  I  asked, 

"  Can  he  stop  a  mob?  " 

"Can  he  stop  a  mob!  Can  Jack  Fairfax  stop  a  mob!  Well,  I 
should  smile!  Ex-desperado  —  nineteen  scalps  on  his  string,  Can^/ 
Oh,  I  say!" 

As  we  tore  up  the  gulch,  distant  cries  and  shouts  and  yells  rose 
faintly  on  the  still  air,  and  grew  steadily  in  strength  as  we  raced  along. 
Roar  after  roar  burst  out,  stronger  and  stronger,  nearer  and  nearer;  and 
at  last,  when  we  closed  up  upon  the  multitude  massed  in  the  open  area 
in  front  of  the  tavern,  the  crash  of  sound  was  deafening.  Some  brutal 
roughs  from  Daly's  gorge  had  Holmes  in  their  grip,  and  he  was  the 
calmest  man  there;  a  contemptuous  smile  played  about  his  lips,  and  if 
any  fear  of  death  was  in  his  British  heart,  his  iron  personality  was 
master  of  it  and  no  sign  of  it  was  allowed  to  appear. 

"  Come  to  a  vote,  men  !  "  This  from  one  of  the  Daly  gang,  Shad- 
belly  Higgins.  "Quick  !  is  it  hang,  or  shoot?  " 

"  Neither !  "  shouted  one  of  his  comrades.  "  He'd  be  alive  again 
in  a  week;  burning's  the  only  permanency  for  Aim." 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story  365 

The  gangs  from  all  the  outlying  camps  burst  out  in  a  thunder-crash 
of  approval,  and  went  struggling  and  surging  toward  the  prisoner,  and 
closed  around  him,  shouting,  "  Fire  I  fire's  the  ticket !  "  They  dragged 
him  to  the  horse-post,  backed  him  against  it,  chained  him  to  it,  and 
piled  wood  and  pine  cones  around  him  waist-deep.  Still  the  strong  face 
did  not  blench,  and  still  the  scornful  smile  played  about  the  thin  lips. 

"  A  match  !    fetch  a  match  !  " 

Shadbelly  struck  it,  shaded  it  with  his  hand,  stooped,  and  held  it 
under  a  pine  cone.  A  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  mob.  The  cone 
caught,  a  tiny  flame  flickered  about  it  a  moment  or  two.  I  seemed  to 
catch  the  sound  of  distant  hoofs  —  it  grew  more  distinct  —  still  more 
and  more  distinct,  more  and  more  definite,  but  the  absorbed  crowd  did 
not  appear  to  notice  it.  The  match  went  out.  The  man  struck  another, 
stooped,  and  again  the  flame  rose;  this  time  it  took  hold  and  began  to 
spread  —  here  and  there  men  turned  away  their  faces.  The  executioner 
stood  with  the  charred  match  in  his  fingers,  watching  his  work.  The 
hoof-beats  turned  a  projecting  crag,  and  now  they  came  thundering  down 
upon  us.  Almost  the  next  moment  there  was  a  shout  — 

"The  sheriff!" 

And  straightway  he  came  tearing  into  the  midst,  stood  bis  horse 
almost  on  his  hind  feet,  and  said, 

"  Fall  back,  you  gutter-snipes !  " 

He  was  obeyed.  By  all  but  their  leader.  He  stood  his  ground, 
and  his  hand  went  to  his  revolver.  The  sheriff  covered  him  promptly, 
and  said : 

"  Drop  your  hand,  you  parlor-desperado.  Kick  the  fire  away. 
Now  unchain  the  stranger." 

The  parlor-desperado  obeyed,,  Then  the  sheriff  made  a  speech; 
sitting  his  horse  at  martial  ease,  and  not  warming  his  words  with  any 
touch  of  fire,  but  delivering  them  in  a  measured  and  deliberate  way,  and 
in  a  tone  which  harmonized  with  their  character  and  made  them  impres 
sively  disrespectful. 

"  You're  a  nice  lot — now  ain't  you?  Just  about  eligible  to  travel 
with  this  bilk  here  —  Shadbelly  Higgins  —  this  loud-mouthed  sneak  that 
shoots  people  in  the  back  and  calls  himself  a  desperado.  If  there's  any 
thing  I  do  particularly  despise,  it's  a  lynching  mob;  I've  never  seen 
one  that  had  a  man  in  it.  It  has  to  tally  up  a  hundred  against  one  be 
fore  it  can  pump  up  pluck  enough  to  tackle  a  sick  tailor.  It's  made  up 
of  cowards,  and  so  is  the  community  that  breeds  it;  and  ninety-nine 


366  A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

times  out  of  a  hundred  the  sheriff's  another  one."  He  paused  —  appar 
ently  to  turn  that  last  idea  over  in  his  mind  and  taste  the  juice  of  it  — 
then  he  went  on:  "The  sheriff  that  lets  a  mob  take  a  prisoner  away 
from  him  is  the  lowest-down  coward  there  is.  By  the  statistics  there 
was  a  hundred  and  eighty-two  of  them  drawing  sneak  pay  in  America 
last  year.  By  the  way  it's  going,  pretty  soon  there'll  be  a  new  disease 
in  the  doctor  books  —  sheriff  complaint"  That  idea  pleased  him  — 
any  one  could  see  it.  "  People  will  say,  *  Sheriff  sick  again?  '  *  Yes; 
got  the  same  old  thing.'  And  next  there'll  be  a  new  title.  People 
won't  say,  '  He's  running  for  sheriff  of  Rapaho  County,'  for  instance; 
they'll  say,  *  He's  running  for  Coward  of  Rapaho.'  Lord,  the  idea  of 
a  grown-up  person  being  afraid  of  a  lynch  mob !  " 

He  turned  an  eye  on  the  captive,  and  said,  "  Stranger,  who  are  you, 
and  what  have  you  been  doing?  " 

"  My  name  is  Sherlock  Holmes,  and  I  have  not  been  doing  any 
thing." 

It  was  wonderful,  the  impression  which  the  sound  of  that  name 
made  on  the  sheriff,  notwithstanding  he  must  have  come  posted.  He 
spoke  up  with  feeling,  and  said  it  was  a  blot  on  the  country  that  a  man 
whose  marvelous  exploits  had  filled  the  world  with  their  fame  and  their 
ingenuity,  and  whose  histories  of  them  had  won  every  reader's  heart  by 
the  brilliancy  and  charm  of  their  literary  setting,  should  be  visited  under 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  by  an  outrage  like.  this.  He  apologized'in  the 
name  of  the  whole  nation,  and  made  Holmes  a  most  handsome  bow, 
and  told  Constable  Harris  to  see  him  to  his  quarters,  and  hold  himself 
personally  responsible  if  he  was  molested  again.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
mob  and  said: 

"Hunt  your  holes,  you  scum!"  which  they  did;  then  he  said: 
"  Follow  me,  Shadbelly;  I'll  take  care  of  your  case  myself.  No  —  keep 
your  pop-gun;  whenever  I  see  the  day  that  I'll  be  afraid  to  have  you  be 
hind  me  with  that  thing,  it'll  be  time  for  me  to  join  last  year's  hundred 
and  eighty-two;"  and  he  rode  off  in  a  walk,  Shadbelly  following. 

When  we  were  on  our  way  back  to  our  cabin,  toward  breakfast-time, 
we  ran  upon  the  news  that  Fetlock  Jones  had  escaped  from  his  lock-up 
in  the  night  and  is  gone !  Nobody  is  sorry.  Let  his  uncle  track  him 
out  if  he  likes;  it  is  in  his  line;  the  camp  is  not  interested. 


CHAPTER  X. 

days  later. 

"James  Walker"  is  all  right  in   body  now,  and  his  mind 
shows  improvement  too.      I   start  with   him   for  Denver  to-morrow 

morning. 

Next  night.     Brief  note,  mailed  at  a  way  station. 

As  we  were  starting,  this  morning,  Hillyer  whispered  to  me :  "  Keep 
this  news  from  Walker  until  you  think  it  safe  and  not  likely  to  disturb 
his  mind  and  check  his  improvement :  the  ancient  crime  he  spoke  ot 
was  really  committed  —  and  by  his  cousin,  as  he  said.  We  buried  the 
real  criminal  the  other  day  —  the  unhappiest  man  that  has  lived  in  a 
century  —  Flint  Buckner.  His  real  name  was  Jacob  Fuller!  "  There, 
mother,  by  help  of  me,  an  unwitting  mourner,  your  husband  and  »y 
father  is  in  his  grave.  Let  him  rest.  :l 


THE  END. 


(387) 


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